Flowers for Jericho
by lucyzigg
Summary: COMPLETED! Chris Jericho has a secret admirer, and it's driving him crazy! But this mystery may just be what he needs...
1. Chapter One: Daisies

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Stephanie McMahon, or other wrestlers that appear in the following story. They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.

SPOILERS: Minor mention of the Chris Jericho/Christian cage match at the 5-10 RAW.

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Flowers for Jericho

CHAPTER ONE

It was utterly mind-boggling.

Running a hand through his loose blond hair, Chris Jericho continued to pace in his dressing room, his eyes locked on the item in question on his dressing room table. The offending object had been there when he arrived twenty minutes earlier, and immediately caused an array of emotions.

And that was merely from the attached card.

Realizing that walking a hole in the ground would not solve the mystery at hand, Chris chose to take a seat on the couch. Reaching out to finger the petals of one of the two dozen daisies, he then grabbed the card within the bouquet and read it over once again.

It read, in decidedly feminine cursive: _Don't frown - your smile is what I fell in love with._ A few flowers were drawn in the corner; other than that, there was no signature.

Rubbing at his eyes, he replaced the card in the fork, trying to comprehend why this bothered him so much. It was certainly not the first bouquet he had received, but there was usually an address, a keycard to a hotel room, or pages of love letters attached from rabid fans. Further, an unsigned, vague message didn't fit the profile of crushing fan. Nor did the simple bouquet of daisies, replacing the lavish bouquets of exotic flowers he was accustomed to receive.

Plus, Chris thought to himself, fan stuff doesn't come until after the show has begun. This fact led him back to his initial conclusions:

1. He had a secret admirer.

2. She worked for the company.

The second conclusion was a bitter pill to swallow. Chris had yet to fully recover from his misguided romance with Trish Stratus; in fact, he had a cage match with her current beau and his former best friend Christian in less than four hours. He often wished he could take back the entire experience with the blonde diva, rid himself of the anger and pain that filled his heart at the thought of her. With that in mind, the mere idea of getting involved with anyone else within the company made him ill. And yet… he liked the idea of someone else lusting after him. It soothed his damaged ego by reinforcing the idea that he was, indeed, a hot sexy beast.

At the thought of damaged egos, Chris snickered, rising from his seat and exiting his dressing room. If there was anyone who could cheer him up, it was the newest (and most severely depressed) employee of Raw. Walking to the head technician's station, he hummed a happy tune, eager to see her face and begin the taunting. Perhaps he could ask her if she knew anything about the mysterious bouquet, since she usually ran superstar errands. But he was more intent on riling her up.

Turning a corner, he caught sight of her, a smirk spreading across his face. Clad in an oversized Raw t-shirt and donning a headset, the newest 'backstage coordinator' was berating another worker. Coming closer, he cleared his throat loudly, garnering her attention. "If it isn't the dethroned princess, hard at work!"

Stephanie McMahon looked at the intruder and scowled, unknowingly allowing her victim to scurry away. "Jericho, I'm not in the mood," she bit out, waving her clipboard as she turned back towards the missing worker. "Where did he go?"

Walking closer, Jericho draped his arm casually over her shoulders. "Well, as you just pointed out Princess, you're not in the mood, so he had no incentive to stay." He mock-sighed, wiping at his brow in mime. "I dare say the entire backstage will be mourning your celibacy tonight."

She pretended to laugh, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. "That's funny, although not as funny as your complete inability to revive your sex life from the resident blonde bimbo." She smiled broader at his look of anger. "I suppose you'll have to be the king of your own world for awhile."

He flinched at her words and her smug appearance, but he forced himself to remain nonchalant. "Ah, I knew you'd understand. After all, wasn't it Trish whom Hunter was having an affair with?"

Stephanie's eyes narrowed to slits. Bullseye, he thought gleefully. "Nothing ever happened between them," she said defensively, breaking eye contact and returning her attention to her clipboard. Inwardly, she cursed Chris Jericho for bringing up her ex-husband and her unsuccessful marriage.

"You just keep telling yourself that," Chris nagged, snickering as Stephanie shrugged off his arm and began walking away. "What's wrong? You can dish it out but can't take it?"

Stephanie pushed her hurt feelings away. "I have work to do," she called over her shoulder. Her father had recently hired her back on a temporary basis; however, to 'prove her loyalty to him', she was forced to work under Bischoff as a backstage coordinator. Both men loved to watch her toil away at such a demeaning job (especially Bischoff, who had her running his personal errands as extra punishment), but she reminded herself that this was just the foot in the door she needed; now all she had to do was wait for opportunity to present itself and she'd be the 'dominant female' once more. Glancing at her checklist, she grinned at her next task and whirled around, facing the man who was a few feet away. "I have to locate and deliver champagne and strawberries to Christian's locker room. That's an odd request, don't you think?" she wondered aloud, pointing at her next task so that Jericho could read it for himself. "I wonder what it's for..."

A variety of unpleasant visions involving Christian and Trish was immediately conjured up by Chris, much to his displeasure. He was completely revolted, and suddenly lost his desire to tease the youngest McMahon any longer. "There is champagne and strawberries in my dressing room every night, baby!" he declared, turning to walk back towards his dressing room. "Only the best for the 'King of the World'!" he shouted behind him, barely catching sight of Steph raising her hand towards her face before he turned the corner.

Once he was out of sight, Stephanie smothered a small giggle. It was a relief to see the old Jericho slewing insults left and right again; seeing him mope about over Trish made her want to vomit. Their bantering was the only thing that made her current situation bearable. With a sigh, she glanced at her watch and shrieked at the lack of time left before Raw began and the amount of work to still be done. Breaking into a run, she took off towards catering, grabbing and dragging the first worker in sight for assistance.

As Stephanie was barking orders and panicking in catering, Chris had wandered off back towards his dressing room to warm up. It was while he walked that he noticed that the newly arriving wrestlers were giving him an odd look. He thought it was the usual stares of jealously at first; then, when passing a window, he caught his reflection and even he was surprised by it.

He was grinning like an idiot. And no matter how much he tried to stop, he couldn't. His mind kept replaying certain details about his encounter with Stephanie: how silly she looked in that cheap Raw t-shirt, how she called Trish a bimbo, the way her eyes blazed fire when he brought up the alleged affair between her ex-husband and Trish; each detail would cause his grin to widen just a bit more.

Well then, he thought to himself wryly, I hope my admirer is around to enjoy this. With that thought, he reentered his dressing room and dug out a notebook from his duffel bag. Flipping past Fozzy song lyrics and assorted drawings, he found a blank corner and proceeded to write down all the names of the Raw divas:

_Stacy_

_ Trish_

_Victoria___

_ Molly_

_ Lita_

_ Gail_

_ Ivory_

_ Nidia_

He immediately crossed off Trish, deciding that the card and the bouquet wasn't her style. If she wanted to screw with his head, she would go all out with roses and flowery words stolen from Shakespeare. He crossed off Ivory, since she hadn't shown up to brand shows in weeks, and Lita, who was still crazy about her ex-boyfriend. He eyed the rest of the names on the list, unable to come up with reasons why it couldn't be them.

To be honest, the list of remaining divas didn't appeal all that much to him. Stacy and Nidia had a ton of baggage. Molly Holly was bald and psychotic, while Victoria seemed to be bipolar with her suddenly bubbly attitude these days. Gail Kim was hot, but she was also Molly Holly's personal bitch, which wasn't all that appealing. Further, there were all the females he hadn't bothered to list: stagehands, makeup artists, hairdressers, caterers, and other assorted personnel. Chucking the notebook across the room, Jericho rubbed at his temples, once again completely annoyed by his mystery gift.

Well, then there is only one thing to do: get rid of it, he thought to himself. Grabbing the vase of daisies, he quickly made his way to the door, leaning outwards just far enough to place the vase to the right of the doorframe before slamming the door back in place. With a sigh of relief, he picked up the thrown notebook and placed it back by the duffel bag. Now, rid of the sight of the wretched gift, he was able to focus on warming up.

He did a series of stretches, his eyes trained on the door, but that was only because he had ended up standing that way by accident.

He then moved closer to the door, falling to the ground to do his push-ups. His move closer, he told himself repeatedly, was only to hear if someone tripped on the bouquet. He didn't want to miss out on something funny like that. However, nobody tripped over the bouquet, nor even commented on it, not even as he did a series of sit ups, jumping jacks, and more stretches.

"I wonder if someone just took them," he mumbled out loud to his empty room. That made him angry for some reason; those daisies and that card were for him and no one else. He didn't want some mid-carder thinking that his smile was better than the first undisputed champion's. With that thought, he flung open his door and grabbed the unharmed bouquet, replacing them back on the table before the couch. With a sigh, he sat down before them once again, his head on his hands, unable to do anything but gaze at the bouquet and wonder who was responsible for this horrible inconvenience.

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of eyes watched down the hallway as Chris reached back out to grab the bouquet once again. Once his door closed, she laughed wholeheartedly at his behavior. She never imagined that her confession and little present would cause him this much trouble. But it was all worth it; the other wrestlers were discussing why Chris Jericho was grinning like a banshee in the hallways this evening. And she'd buy him hundreds of flowers and write hundreds of cards, just to keep that smile on his face. Grinning, she turned and walked away, already debating what the flowers would be next week.

END CHAPTER ONE

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Author's Notes: Hello all! I got this idea while working on my next chapter of Façade, and couldn't resist the urge to post it now (hell, I'm an unemployed college graduate, I should have plenty of time to keep up on both fics). Hopefully you all won't object to another romantic fanfic involving Chris Jericho :) I am curious to see if you guys like the idea behind this fanfic, so please review and tell me if this is worth pursuing or if I should just stick to dramatic fiction like Façade :) Thanks for your time guys, take care!


	2. Chapter Two: White Irises

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Stephanie McMahon, or other wrestlers that appear in the following story. They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.

SPOILERS: Discussion of the main event from the 5-17 Raw.

ONE LAST THING: This chapter is dedicated to Nina (DCFanatic4life), who told me in her review for chapter one that she loves my writing, causing me to choke on a potato chip in disbelief.

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Flowers for Jericho

CHAPTER TWO

To say that Chris Jericho was having a horrible day would be an understatement. It was unfortunate timing, since today was the day he would participate in a 20 man battle royal and possibly become the #1 contender to the world title. He knew he could beat the 19 other wrestlers that also vied for contendership. He also knew that he could beat Chris Benoit and win that title, given the opportunity.

However, it seemed that Fate was trying to beat him into submission.

The day had begun normal enough, with Chris boarding his flight to San Diego around 10 AM. However, a freak rainstorm caused the flight to be delayed nearly two hours; once the plane took off, the turbulence was enough for Chris to regret eating breakfast that morning. To further his growing hatred for the aerospace industry, the layover in Portland went from 45 minutes to 4 hours, for no apparent reason other than to piss off the already annoyed wrestler.

He thought he was home-free once the plane landed in California. But Fate was not done with him yet; the baggage claim conveyer belt broke down halfway through the luggage from Chris's flight. It would take the 'highly-skilled' maintenance men half an hour to discover the problem: an oversized baby blue suitcase plugging up the luggage chute. The suitcase belonged to an old woman, who shouted happily once the blue monster was pulled from the jaws of the chute "That's mine!".

Chris nicknamed her Millie. If she hadn't been over 80 years old, he would also have wished death upon her.

Once Millie's monstrosity was out of the way, the conveyor belt whirled back to life. Jericho's suitcase came out immediately afterwards, lifting his spirits a bit as he dashed towards the rental car counter. The clerk was surprisingly nice, handing Chris the keys and wishing him a safe trip without any hassle. Perhaps, Chris thought as he made his way to his rental car, my luck is changing.

Thinking had never been so dangerous.

His rental car turned out to be some foreign compact car that would even make Spike Dudley squirm uncomfortably, even with the driver's seat moved as far back as possible. Chris squeezed into the tiny automobile, glanced at the directions to the arena and started off towards the highway. Like most other highways during the summer months, this one was in the throes of construction, limiting it to just one lane of traffic.

It shouldn't be that bad, Chris told himself. It's already 8:00; the rush hour traffic should be nearly gone. And he was right; the roads were clear except for one Cadillac in front of him. A baby blue Cadillac that didn't go any faster than 40 mph.

"You have GOT to be kidding me!" Jericho shouted within the confines of his car, his temper boiling as he recognized the driver in front of him.

Millie, on the other hand, did not notice the irate blond man in the compact car behind her; she was too busy concentrating on the odometer. She was 86 years old, after all; it wouldn't be proper for her to get a speeding ticket.

Despite the fact that he knew it was morally wrong, and that she was an old woman, Jericho cursed her to hell. Repeatedly.

Finally, after an hour of hellish driving (Jericho had decided, after a few miles, that whomever coined the phrase 'devil in a blue dress' had meant to say 'Millie in a blue Caddy') Chris had reached his turn-off. He continued to grind his teeth as he sped to the arena, found a spot in the athletes' parking lot, and rushed inside. A parking attendant pointed him in the direction where his dressing room was, and he hurriedly walked towards his destination. A quick glance at his watch showed that it was 9:23; still plenty of time to dress, stretch, and mentally prepare for the big match tonight.

Once inside his dressing room, Fate delivered her last jab. For on his coffee table, much like last week, was a simple bouquet of white irises. Chris could see the card sticking out of the flowers, already taunting him with what he suspected was another cryptic unsigned message.

Yep, it was officially a bad day for Chris Jericho. And there was only one thing on his mind – letting off some steam. Leaving his suitcase by the door, he re-entered the hallway and grabbed the t-shirt of the first person with a headset on that walked by. "Who's in charge of the superstars' dressing rooms?" he growled at the technician, yanking him closer.

The young man looked to his left, met Jericho's fiery gaze, and admirably did not wet his pants. "We-we-we-well, sir, there are a few people who manage…"

Chris Jericho did not like that answer. Balling his fist in the boy's collar, he lifted the boy a few inches in the air and gave him a death glare. "Look, kid, there are flowers in my dressing room. Somebody had to have put them here. I want you to find that person and send them here RIGHT NOW!"

The young man nodded furiously, even though he didn't have the first idea who could have put that particular item in this guy's room. However, his first priority was to get his feet back on the ground, the second was to run away from this psycho. "Yes sir, right away!" he squeaked, hoping that would appease the much larger blond man. He then got his wish, falling unceremoniously to the ground as the wrestler released his grip and stomped back into his dressing room. Rubbing his sore behind, he walked off in search of his supervisor, muttering about how his measly wages did not accommodate for 'roided-up freaks'.

Back inside the dressing room, Chris took a long, deep breath, trying to steady his already frazzled nerves. He needed to focus, to channel this rage into something productive for the match tonight. With another scathing look at the bouquet, which still sat untouched on the table, he opened his suitcase, pulled out his gear, and high tailed it into the bathroom to change.

Unfortunately, as he mechanically got dressed for his match, his mind became fixated on the flowers that lie just outside. He itched to read the card; there could be some sort of clue to help him discern who his secret admirer was. If he continued to act stubborn, he could be losing out on precious time with this girl, he told himself.

From a person who was intent on not letting this secret admirer get to him, this was a rather disturbing thought.

As he finished taping his wrists, he exited the restroom and sat down before the flowers only because there was no other comfortable seating in the room. And after a day of riding coach to riding behind Millie in a tin can, this folding chair looked like a throne. Relaxing almost immediately against the metal frame, Jericho decided his warming up could wait another ten minutes. And, in that case, perhaps he should keep himself occupied by reading something of growing importance.

Within seconds the card was plucked from the blooms as Jericho eagerly read its contents: _Despite what happens tonight, you'll still be the #1 contender for my heart._ Again, there was no signature; not on the bottom, the side, or even the back. There was the same flower doodle in the corner, daisy-like flowers attached by a vine.

His hopes dashed, Jericho dropped the card into his lap and began to rub his temples. Can I not even score ONE break today? he wondered despondently. He didn't know exactly when knowing who his secret admirer became a priority – most likely sometime in the restroom – but now the mystery consumed him once again. He kept asking why she insisted on writing this sappy-sweet love notes, contained within ordinary bunches of flowers that one could buy at the grocery store. Didn't _he,_ the man she was in love with, deserve something nicer? his egotistical side demanded to know. His mind burned with the information… the answer was THERE somewhere… but he could not grasp at it. He went over the facts again: mysterious gifts that arrived before he did, a bouquet of almost ordinary flowers, a card with a different declaration of love and flower doodles but no signature… Wait a second! What about…

His door banged open, startling him enough to jump about a foot into the air. His train of thought flew around the fuming Stephanie McMahon in the doorway and out into the hall. Realizing what her intrusion had cost him, Chris leapt to his feet, hands flinging about in anger. "Jesus, Steph, what is your problem?!" he nearly screamed. "I was so close!"

She stomped closer to him, allowing the door to close behind her. "Close to what, throttling another one of my technicians?" She got into his face, her one hand poking his naked chest repeatedly. "You listen to me, Chris Jericho, if you EVER…"

He grabbed the wrist of the hand that was poking him, effectively cutting her off. Pulling her closer, he pinned her down with a threatening look. "Do not touch me again, or you will regret it," he growled.

Her chin wavered a bit, but her eyes remained defiant. "Or what? Lay one hand on me and my father will have your head."

Chris laughed hollowly; did she really think that was a threat? "Vince McMahon, the man that choked you out with a lead pipe, would probably thank me for putting you in line. You aren't his little girl anymore." The light disappearing from her eyes did not deter his wish of causing her pain. "You're nothing to him but an employee."

Her eyes swirled with emotions Chris could not identify. After a moment, she looked away, pulling at her wrist until he reluctantly let go. She rubbed at the reddened skin, her eyes focused on the floor as she quietly stood her ground, choosing her next words carefully. She reminded herself that she did barge into his dressing room, and did provoke him, but these actions did not add up to such venomous words. A man only spoke ruthlessly when there was a lot on his mind. She curiously examined Jericho's face, careful to avoid his triumphant gaze, and decided that he looked extraordinarily tired. "You're probably right," she said, causing Jericho's eyebrows to shoot upwards in surprise. "Just leave me and the other employees alone next time you go on a tirade." Giving him a slight nod, she turned to leave.

"Stephanie, wait!" Chris called out without thinking. She stopped walking to hear him out, but did not face him. He wasn't sure why he stopped her retreat; he would have preferred that she left so he could be alone with his thoughts. But she remained in his dressing room, and when his eyes caught sight of the irises he found his excuse. "Do you know anything about these?" he asked, gesturing uselessly towards the bouquet on his table.

With a sigh, Stephanie turned and met his eyes. Chris again pointed to the bouquet, tapping his foot impatiently. She looked at them, and then back at Chris. "They're flowers," she stated in a monotone.

He rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the clarification. Care to tell me where they came from?"

Her eyes studied the plain bouquet. "Somebody cheap. Are you dating prostitutes again?" She smirked at her comment, her spirits raised a bit.

Chris fell back into the folding chair, unwilling to play their usual game. Even if she was wide open for a scathing comparison between her and a hooker. "You can leave now," he said, picking up the card that had fallen on the floor.

Stephanie gaped at him; since when did he just let a comment like that slide? He appeared to be drowning in misery as he stared at the flowers, and despite her best efforts, she found herself concerned. Of course, being selflessly concerned about someone else was a relatively new sensation for her, and she didn't have the first clue about what to say to him. Better yet, she didn't know how to make the feeling go away. Deciding to start with the origin of the flowers, she dug around in her jeans until producing a piece of folded up paper. Scanning over the list of dressing room deliveries, she walked over to Jericho and handed him the sheet of paper. "Here," she said simply. Hoping this would do the trick, she turned and left his dressing room, trying to squelch the feelings of worry by reminding herself of all the nasty things he said to her on a daily basis.

Jericho allowed Stephanie to escape this time only because he was engrossed with reading the list. He carefully read the contents three times; not once did his name or the irises appear on the sheet of paper. He took a moment to snicker at a few of the items, like the seven tubes of Icy Hot delivered to Evolution's locker room, and then tossed both the paper and the card aside.

"So the techs aren't delivering this stuff… that can only mean the girl is doing it herself," he concluded to his empty locker room. "And if she's coming in here, all I have to do is arrive early and catch her in the act." He congratulated himself on such a brilliant plan as he got up to stretch. Now, all I have to do is decide where to hide, and what to say to her.

While he warmed up he decided that hiding in the bathroom would be the best course of action. He would then tell her that he wasn't interested in a relationship; if she was gorgeous and desperate, he supposed he could give her a dose of Vitamin C.

While he walked out to the ring, intent on winning this battle royal, he suddenly decided that she at least deserved dinner, before he broke her heart. But only if she wasn't weird or ugly.

While he was smacking around Ric Flair, surrounded by the stench of Icy Hot, he decided that if she arrived before him next week, then she would figure out that he was hiding in his bathroom. Therefore, he'd have to find someplace else to hide; perhaps across the hall in another room, with a clear view of his locker room door?

After he smashed his knee on the steel steps and fell on his head outside of the ring, he determined that the wrestling ring was no place to strategize plans on meeting a secret admirer. Lying ringside, clutching his throbbing knee, the words from the card in his dressing room floated through his mind, but did little to make him feel better.

All in all, it was the perfect ending to a horrible day.

Backstage, a woman cringed at the sight of Chris being eliminated. When he was in the ring, he had appeared almost… distracted at times. She wondered what he was preoccupied with; regaining the world title should be his first priority. Whatever the cause, losing the match would most likely send him back to the doldrums, and she couldn't bear to see that again. And yet she could do nothing except continue to send him flowers and cards. It would have to do, she reminded herself, until he was ready to find out the truth.

END CHAPTER TWO

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Author's notes: Hey y'all! I'd like to take the opportunity to thank everyone who reviewed the first chapter of this fic, it inspired me to continue with this idea. And I can't tell you how much I loved writing this chapter; I can only hope that you guys loved reading it. Please review and let me know what you think. Take care!


	3. Chapter Three: Marigolds

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Stephanie McMahon, or other wrestlers that appear in the following story. They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.

SPOILERS: Minor mention of the 5-24 Highlight Reel.

DEDICATIONS: This chapter is dedicated to two great people, and NOT dedicated to one more. To Jodi and Carolyn, thanks for all of your support guys, I hope you like this! And to Nina, this is NOT dedicated to you so that you don't get embarrassed. You're NOT the best, and I do NOT appreciate all of your kind words. NOT :)

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Flowers for Jericho

CHAPTER THREE

It was only 5:03 when the adult version of 'hide and seek' began at the arena.

"She's late,"Chris cackled to himself as he stared at his locker room door from across the hall. Once he arrived and saw no flowers and no card, he dressed in record time and took refuge in another locker room, quite a bit larger than his own. Keeping the door of his hiding place open just a crack, he sat on the floor and waited to catch his foolish admirer.

It was debatable whether or not he could really call the girl foolish. After all, could a grown man who arrived four hours early to spy on his dressing room door _really _call somebody else foolish?

With nothing else to do but stare ahead, Chris tried to come to a decision about what to say to his secret admirer, once he followed her into his dressing room and caught her in the act. He figured she would be embarrassed, and surprised, and probably swoon in his presence like the majority of his groupies.

_God_, he suddenly thought to himself,_ I hope she doesn't cry_. There was nothing more awkward than a woman covered in tears and snot hyperventilating in front of him. If that occurred, he didn't care how hot she was – she was getting kicked out.

Chris sighed; he was bored, he couldn't figure out what to say, and his backside ached from his position on the floor. He didn't feel like stretching; his only obligation tonight was interviewing Randy Orton for the Highlight Reel, which didn't pose much of a challenge. The young man only talked about three things: whom he had defeated, his title, and how gorgeous he was. Jericho despised people like that.

_After all_, he reminded himself, _It's not like the punk beat both The Rock and Stone Cold Steve Austin in one night to become the first Undisputed Champion. And he was nowhere near the status of a sexy beast._

Ironical comparisons were never a strong point for Jericho. Neither was patience. Thankfully, he saw a familiar headset-toting girl walk by, and decided to have a friendly conversation. After all, she had been uncharacteristically helpful last week by giving him her delivery schedule. Getting up from his seat, he opened the door further and grabbed her arm as she walked by

Like most girls who are startled by random touching, Stephanie shrieked and lashed out at the offender with her clipboard. She recognized Jericho after the first hit, then decided to hit him once more for her personal amusement. "What is your problem?" she yelled as he dragged her in the door. "And why the hell are you in Shelton Benjamin's locker room?"

Chris shrugged, releasing his grip on her and returning to his post in front of the cracked door. "Trying to catch my admirer," he explained.

Stephanie gave him a strange look, her face devoid of understanding. With a sigh, he stood up and forced her to kneel down in his former spot. Once she saw the view of his locker room door, she slowly nodded. "So it's true then," she spoke as she looked at his upside-down face from her position on the floor.

"What's true, that you being on your knees with a man in the room can be completely non-sexual?" He _did_ have all intentions of being friendly, anyway.

She scowled, looking back out the door into the hallway. "No, asshole; that you're completely nuts." She then squinted a bit. "Who's the blonde in front of your door?"

Within seconds Chris had thrown Stephanie backwards, nearly stomping on her chest as he threw open the door and ran into… Rob Conway. The La Resistance member's startled face quickly faded into that of delighted surprise. "Bonsoir Monsieur Chris, ca va?" he asked in a newly acquired French accent. _Perhaps_, Rob thought (in English, since he only knew a select number of French phrases), _he will put me in the Walls_.

Alas, poor Rob misunderstood Chris's penchant for tight pink pleather. Hearing Stephanie laughing behind him, Jericho wished her a torturous death. He then wished to be out of this situation. Stepping back, Chris put up his hands defensively. "Listen Kermit, I may be Canadian but I do not _FRENCH_ Canadians, got it?" he stressed, rushing back into Shelton's locker room.

He found Stephanie leaning against the wall, tearing up as she laughed her ass off. "Today… best day ever…" she managed to say between outbursts. She wanted to skip to Bischoff's office and thank him for giving her such a shitty job.

Chris peeked out the door to make sure that Rob had left him alone. Sure enough, he spotted the rejected non-Frenchman walking away. "You are so dead, McMahon," he growled, turning his fury towards her. Questioning a man's sexuality can quickly put a damper on his day; for Chris, this was the second Monday in a row.

Steph attempted to calm down. "Whatever Jericho. I was trying to prove a point; I didn't ask Conway to come on to you." She scratched at her chin in mock-thought. "Now that I think about it, Conway is your type: blond, Canadian, and slutty."

"He's not even Canadian!" Jericho argued before realizing that he'd played into her tease. Growling at her victory smirk, he opened the locker room door fully and pushed her outside. "What was the point?" he asked as he followed her outside.

She rolled her eyes. "That this secret admirer is turning you into a little bitch."

He wasn't sure why, but her words bothered him immensely. "You should be happy then, I've just joined your species."

Steph crossed her arms. "Look at yourself. You're letting this girl screw with your mind with cheap flowers and poetic cards. She could be a total nobody! If I had known the so-called 'King of the World' was going to lower his standards THIS much…"

"Sorry Stephy, my standards will always be higher than street trash," he interrupted. He then gave her a patronizing smile. "I mean, it's sweet that you're jealous and all, but…"

"I am NOT jealous!" It was her turn to interrupt him. She nearly laughed in his face; jealous of a silly lovesick girl? Utterly inconceivable. "Besides, I'm not your type."

Jericho saw his finish line, and gave her a large smile. "You're right, I don't go for filthy…"

"Don't your dare." Her brow furrowed.

"Dirty…"

"Stop it!"

"Disgusting…."

She screamed in anger, attempting to bitch slap him. He caught her arm easily, pulling her closer and leaning his face towards her.

"Brutal, bottom-feeding, trash-bag hoes," Chris finished smoothly. Looking into her furious face, he couldn't help but feel three years younger. Even though he applied those special adjectives to another deserving bitch not too long ago, the words were meant to be said to the youngest McMahon. She was their inspiration; she gave them life.

Full of fury and contempt, Stephanie found herself without a comeback. And yet, she knew her best revenge was to be right about this stupid admirer. She could hardly wait until the entire situation blew up in his face. Full of anticipation, she ripped her arm away, grabbed her clipboard (which had fallen to the ground sometime after he pulled her into the hallway) and sent him one more evil look before returning to work.

Chris watched her retreat with a large smile until he remembered that his brilliant plan did not have him standing in the hallway like an idiot. He re-entered his hiding place, only to find that it had been converted back into a locker room, due to the arrival of a certain wrestler.

Shelton Benjamin, who was busy unpacking his things, was surprised to see the blond man enter his dressing room. He was even more taken aback when Jericho ignored his presence completely, choosing instead to sit on the floor in front of his door. Scratching his head, he abandoned his gym bag and approached the other man cautiously. "Something I can help you with?" he asked.

Unbeknownst to Shelton, Chris HAD noticed that the young man was in his dressing room; however, he was too preoccupied with the task at hand. If he were being honest with himself, Chris would admit to being glad that there was someone else in the room to talk to. "I'm busy, Junior." Due to the later hour, there were more people walking around the halls, making his target rather hard to see.

Shelton narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Going to stand over Jericho, he looked out the door as well, to see people milling about in the hallway. Upon closer examination, he saw that Jericho's locker room was directly in his line of sight. Perhaps he thinks he is going to be jumped Shelton thought to himself. "Somebody in your dressing room?"

Chris shook his head. "Not yet, but soon." He decided that elaborating his plan to such an insignificant person would be a waste of his time.

"I see." Actually, Shelton was still confused, but he didn't want the older man to know. With nothing else to do, he leaned against the wall beside the door and watched the hallway as well. "So, uh, you're interviewing Orton tonight, right?"

"Yes." Jericho looked up briefly, noticing how the other man had taken up a door-side vigil with him. "You have a beef with Orton?"

Shelton shrugged. "Can't stand the guy. He's getting too cocky for his own good."

"Like you're not," Jericho snorted. "I can't believe your locker room is larger than mine."

"When was the last time you beat Triple H?" Shelton retorted, flashing him a toothy smile.

Jericho snorted; too cocky indeed. Yep, it was safe to say that he was starting to like the kid. "Alright Junior, I'll give you that. I'll also rile up Orton tonight during the Reel. Maybe he'll consent to a match."

Shelton nodded to keep from gaping at his companion. He knew that Chris had changed after the whole ordeal with Trish Stratus. Still, 'Nice Chris' was rather unnerving. Strange or not, though, he wouldn't pass up the opportunity that Jericho presented him with. "So who are we looking for?" he asked, gesturing towards the hallway. He wouldn't mind assisting Jericho with a beat down, especially if it was someone in Evolution.

Chris sighed, noticing the usage of the word 'we'. This admirer problem was supposed to be private, to be told only to worthy friends. Then again, Chris hadn't had a real friend since he found out about Christian's schemes. With nothing to lose, he decided to enlighten the kid with an abbreviated version of the truth. "This chick keeps leaving flowers and cards in my room when I'm not around, and I want to know who she is."

"You have a secret admirer, huh." Shelton bit back a laugh as Chris's cheeks turned pink. "Are you sure it isn't Trish screwing with ya?"

Chris shook his head violently; he refused to believe that Trish was behind this. His gut told him that it wasn't her. "I know it isn't her. Whoever it is, is driving me crazy though."

"Looks like it," Shelton commented, looking at the man sitting on his dressing room floor. A thought occurred to him, and he snapped his fingers. "I think I saw a chick carrying around flowers in catering when I arrived before. Didn't get a good look at her face though."

Halfway though Shelton's words, Jericho had leapt to his feet, his heart racing. _A lead!_ his mind exclaimed. He nearly hugged the man, but settled for a friendly slap of the arm. "I'll check it out; be a champ and keep an eye on my locker room, okay?" he asked quickly. Not waiting for an answer, he bolted from the room, his eyes searching for any signs of flowers.

Before he knew what he was doing, Shelton had sat in the spot Jericho had vacated. Despite the foolishness that he immediately felt, he looked upon it as a form of community service; if he could help solve this mystery, perhaps it would cure Jericho's erratic behavior.

Unfortunately, Shelton's lead turned out to be a dud. After a thorough scan of the catering area, Chris came up with no bouquet and no girl. Noticing that a number of other wrestlers were staring at him curiously (he was, after all, panting heavily in the entrance of the room), he casually walked over to a bin to grab a bottle of water. Taking a large sip, he nodded a greeting to a nearby Chris Benoit and Edge before retracing his steps towards the locker rooms.

He had taken no more than three steps when he saw none other than Rob Conway and partner coming straight towards him. Further, both Conway and Sylvan were gazing at him in a rather… inappropriate way. Panicking, he searched out a distraction, and saw one in the form of Stacy Keibler walking around him towards the Diva's locker room. "Stacy!" he called out, touching her arm and getting her attention. "I wanted to ask you something."

Tossing her long blond hair over one shoulder, Stacy gave him her best smile. She never expected Chris Jericho to come on to her, especially after his ordeal with Trish. But, she was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Hi Chris," she purred, letting her hand rest on his arm. "What can I do for you?"

Like most men, Chris was oblivious to the come on. However, his excuse could be the approaching members of La Resistance. Thankful that she hadn't snubbed him, Chris took the liberty of moving them closer to the wall and out of the middle of the hallway. "I was wondering if you'd seen anyone carrying a bouquet of flowers around?" _Might as well see if she knows anything._

Her brow furrowed; why would he ask about flowers? Didn't he want to ask her out? "I don't think so," she said slowly, idly playing with her hair. Looking up at his handsome face through her lashes, she leaned closer to him, giving him another smile and another chance. "So, what are you doing after the show?"

Chris ignored her coy question as he watched La Resistance scowl at Stacy before walking past them into the catering area. With a sigh of relief, he gave her a playful grin. "If you see anyone with a bouquet of flowers, you'll let me know, right doll-face?" he asked charmingly, touching her chin.

Stacy's heart sped up at his touch. "Of course!" she exclaimed. She KNEW he wanted her; she never doubted it. She couldn't wait until she was on the arm of the Ayatollah himself.

He winked at her, taking a step back. "You're the best, doll." Waving a goodbye, he resumed his walk back to Shelton's locker room, completely missing Stacy lust after him like a lovestruck teenager. His problem with the mystery girl may be embarrassing, but if Conway's come-on got out, he'd never live it down. He was glad that he avoided a mortifying scene in front of the dinner crowd.

He wasn't glad to find Shelton's locker room door shut. With a growl, he went into his own dressing room to find… absolutely nothing. For some reason, that bothered him even more. _How stupid is she to miss the perfect opportunity to leave the flowers?_ Beyond frustrated, he decided to follow through with his plans and wait in Shelton's locker room until he had to do his Highlight Reel; he only hoped she would show before then. As an afterthought, he grabbed the other two cards from his suitcase; perhaps Shelton could lend new insight into their meaning.

Shelton wasn't prepared for Chris to come bursting out of his dressing room and trample him as he hurried across the hall. "Man, what's your deal?" he groaned, rubbing his crushed left hand.

Once he regained his balance, Jericho scowled down at him. "You weren't down there a minute ago," he explained. "I had to make sure she didn't come."

"Well excuse me for needing to use the bathroom." Straightening up, he eyed the white cards that Jericho held in one hand. "What are those?"

Leaning against the wall (much in the same way that Shelton had earlier), Jericho handed him the notes. "These came with the last two bouquets."

Shelton read both cards silently, noting both the different handwriting and the flower doodles. He was expecting cheesy poetry… but these simple words were more sincere than that. Although the words were not directed at him, they still invoked a tingle down Shelton's spine. "Wow," was the only relevant comment he could think of as he handed the cards back to Jericho. "No wonder you're acting like a fool."

Normally Chris would be insulted by a comment like that. But Stephanie had said something along those same lines, and he was starting to believe it.

Engrossed with the cards, both men did not notice Stephanie coming towards the locker room, carrying something of great importance. Therefore, it was no surprise that when she entered the room she tripped over Shelton, bumped into Jericho, and fell flat on her butt. "Owwwww!" she cried out from her new position on the floor.

"Tell me about it," Shelton muttered as he rubbed his now injured right hand. Deciding that the floor was too dangerous, he stood up; he went to offer Stephanie a hand up, but realized that both of his hurt too much.

Jericho opened his mouth to make a comment, but froze when he saw what Stephanie held. Immediately, he leaned over to help her up, grabbing the items from her hand as he did. "Where did you get these?" he demanded to know.

"A technician found them by a garbage can in catering just a few minutes ago," she explained. "When he went to throw them in, I realized what they were."

Chris could hardly believe it as he looked at the mangled bouquet of marigolds. "She… she tried to get rid of them," he said to himself as he attempted to straighten a bent stem. He couldn't begin to figure out why, it just didn't make sense. He retrieved the card from amidst the crushed blossoms, holding it in a way so that all of them could read what she had to say.

_You deserve the best, but all I have is my love_, the note read in sloppy cursive. This time, she had drawn the daisy-like flowers around the words as a type of border.

"What the hell is going on?" Jericho asked out loud. Neither he, nor Steph or Shelton, had an answer.

END CHAPTER THREE

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Author's Notes: Ah, and the plot thickens! I'd just like to mention that I have nothing against Rob Conway; he served some much needed comic relief for this chapter. I hope you enjoyed this beastly long installment. Review and let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter Four: Pink Carnations

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Shelton Benjamin, or other wrestlers that appear in the following story. They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.

SPOILERS: Discussion of Highlight Reel from 5-31 Raw.

* * *

Flowers for Jericho

CHAPTER FOUR

In general, Chris Jericho saw rookie wrestlers as pesky ants that swarmed his picnic basket. He took great pleasure in crushing them. It was an enormous pity that he befriended one.

"I don't see why you made me come tonight, Junior," Chris grumped for the seventh time as he glared at his companion. With his arms crossed and his body slouching in a folding chair, he painted the picture of absolutely pathetic.

Shelton looked over at the man sharing his dressing room. "How am I not surprised that you're trying to blame this on me?"

"Look at the facts: I don't have a match, I don't have an interview, I don't have any reason to be here," Jericho stated matter-of-factly, counting off on his fingers as he announced his list.

"Those facts are whack." Shelton continued to tape his wrists. "Let me give you the real list: First you hunt me down at the hotel and tell me you have nothing to do. Then you warn me about Randy and Batista going after me tonight as some sort of revenge for last week. And lastly, you follow me to my rental, deeming it necessary to accompany me if only 'to save my rookie neck'." Biting back a chuckle, he set down the athletic tape and gave Chris a serious look. "You're still curious about the girl, aren't you?"

At Shelton's words, Chris scowled and sunk further into the chair. "Since when do I care about a chick?" he retorted.

Of course, Shelton was right. Chris's mind had seized on the growing mystery of his admirer, not allowing him to sleep or think about anything productive. He wondered why she had ditched the marigolds last week; he currently had three decent theories and a dozen crazy ideas on the subject. The theories were as follows:

1. She realized he was watching his dressing room and was unable to deliver the flowers; therefore she chickened out and ditched them by the trash. This was rather improbable; this girl always managed to drop off the flowers before.

2. Trish, trying to make his life even MORE unbearable, somehow found out about the girl, and threatened her. This theory pissed him off only because he couldn't stomach that bitch solving a mystery that had been bothering him for weeks.

3. She saw him flirting with Stacy and threw away his flowers in an angry rage. By far the most appealing theory; plus, it would fit well in the timeline of events. This girl thought she was in love with him, for Pete's sake. Of course she would be act like a jealous idiot if another Diva had her paws all over him.

_Another Diva_, he caught himself mentally. Every time he contemplated this, he automatically assumed it was another female wrestler, and yet he did not wish to change his thinking. His gut told him that he was right.

His brain, on the other hand, told him he was acting like an idiot. And that he should let the bitch go; her distraction level was at orange, or elevated.

"While you were changing I told Stephanie that you were here, and to keep it on the DL," Shelton's voice broke his thoughts.

_Big-mouth rookie_, he thought tiredly. "And you did that because…"

"Because you don't have a dressing room. And you never know what deliveries you might get," Shelton said with a wink, knowing that would provoke his friend.

The younger man's words indeed struck a nerve. Rage coursed through his body, and before he realized what he was doing, Chris had Shelton up against the wall, a hand at his throat. "Wrong day to screw with me, Junior," he growled, curling his other hand into a fist. Perhaps a fat lip would teach the kid to keep his mouth shut.

As he reached back to do just that, Chris noticed that there was no fear in Shelton's deep brown eyes. Instead, there was a mixture of humor and understanding. This startled the blond man, distracting him from his task at hand. _What is so damn funny?_

Shelton fought the urge to smile; instead, he deftly maneuvered his way out of Jericho's grip and moved to his left. "Chill out," he said softly, patting Chris's shoulder before walking past him towards the door. "After all, like you said, it's just a chick." Inwardly, he prayed that this attempt would goad the other man into letting out some of his anger. Although not the recipient of the flowers, Shelton found last week's incident to be both extraordinarily curious and downright shady. A woman who would build up Chris for two weeks before and then crush his already weary spirit was nothing but heartless. It fit the profile of Trish Stratus to a T.

Instead of lashing out at Shelton again, Chris nodded slowly. "You're right," he bit out. Taking a deep breath to calm his jumpy nerves, Chris lowered himself into another chair, all the time mindful of his injured back. "Abso-fucking-lutely right, Benji."

"Benji?" Shelton repeated, but Chris remained silent, staring at a spot on the far wall. The younger man hadn't expected Chris to agree with much, much less fit him with a new nickname. With nothing left to say, and confused as usual, Shelton decided to abandon his friend and try to rustle up some trouble before his match.

When Shelton returned to his locker room, he found Chris in exactly the same position. This wouldn't be unusual, except that nearly an hour had gone by; and being a man who has had his fair share of back injuries, it was literally painful to think of sitting upright in a steel chair for more than five minutes, much less the 90 minutes he had been gone. Retrieving a towel from his bag, Shelton coughed loudly, causing Chris to jump about a mile in the air. "Welcome back, spaceman," he greeted as he wiped the sweat off of him.

Clutching at his back, Chris sent a glare at the younger man. "How was the match, Benji?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Secured my match for Bad Blood," he confirmed, unable to suppress a grin. Slinging the now sweaty towel around his neck, he studied the blond man's face. "So what did you decide?"

"Huh?"

"A man with a back injury doesn't sit still for more than an hour without coming to some sort of decision," Shelton reasoned casually. "Giving up on her?"

Chris was momentarily stunned; he never thought Shelton to be that intuitive. But as the other man's suggestion filtered though his thoughts, his surprise melted into the ever-present agitation. _Give up on her; he makes it sound so damn easy,_ he thought to himself wryly. "I don't know what to do," he moaned, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. _Maybe she already gave up on me._

Shelton did not envy the other man's position. He watched as the mystery continued to eat away at Chris's spirit, even after the admirer trashed the flowers last week and put a theoretical halt on any further progress. With no words of wisdom to offer, he grabbed a clean towel and retreated towards the showers. The least he could do was smell better for his distraught companion.

A few minutes later, Stephanie McMahon burst into the dressing room, her hair flying about her face. "Trish and Tomko are in the ring," she spoke between pants. "Talking trash about you. Called you a problem."

That was all Jericho had to hear.

"A problem, eh?" With those fateful words, he rushed to the ring and bravely stood up to the duo.

Unfortunately, his back did not stand up against a much larger, perennially-pissed off Tyson Tomko. Within seconds, it seemed, he was laid out and being helped to the back.

A skirted Shelton met him at the curtain. (While skirts are coming back into men's fashion, due to such blockbuster films such as Troy, Shelton did not wear his to be avant-garde. In fact, he had been enjoying his shower moments earlier when Stephanie came in to inform him about the latest Jericho beat-down.) Batting away the referees, Chris moved to lean against the damp young man. "Beat it, penguins," he growled. "I don't need to see the damn trainer."

Amongst the squawking of the striped midgets, Shelton led the injured Chris back to the locker room. Not a word was exchanged between them; there was no inquiry after Jericho's condition, nor was there a snide remark on Shelton's current fashion statement.

This silence, however, would be short lived. For as they entered Shelton's locker room, they both immediately spotted the foreign object sitting beside Shelton's gym bag.

Well, perhaps not that foreign to Chris, anyway. This was the fourth time in as many weeks.

"You have got to be kidding me," Shelton groaned. Pissed that the mystery flowers could no longer be blamed on Trish, he tightened his grip on the suddenly stiff man and led him closer to the flowers.

Chris's first thought was to throw the flowers away in retaliation of last week. His back was screaming for medical attention, his ego was badly wounded from another Trish trouncing, and his brain was about to overload from collective stress. He didn't want them. He didn't _need_ them.

It was also a widely known fact that Chris Jericho was a glutton for punishment. So neither man was surprised when Chris reached out to touch the nearest pink carnation. "Looks like the shit you see in cafeterias," he commented in a weak attempt at humor.

Shelton let out an obligatory chuckle before grabbing the card that leaned against the base of the vase.

"What's it say?" Chris asked, closing his eyes as he continued to stroke the carnation. His vision was filled with periodic bursts of spots, due to the shooting pain going up his spine; trying to read a 3x3 index card right now would be less than successful.

Wetting his lips, Shelton eagerly opened the note. "I'm sorry."

Chris's eyes flew open. "For what?" he demanded, his heart suddenly beating at a thousand beats a minute.

The other man merely shook his head. "That's what it says. 'I'm sorry.'"

He couldn't believe it. Forcing himself to look through the spotted colors that blocked his vision, he grabbed the card and read the two small words for himself. There was no flower doodle to enhance these words this time, and rightfully so; this was no poetic declaration of affection. Unable to continue standing, Chris slumped to the floor, moving to lie on his belly. "Benji?"

Squatting down, Shelton picked up Chris's head just high enough to place a rolled-up t-shirt underneath it. "Yeah?"

"I hate women."

END CHAPTER FOUR

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Author's notes: This chapter is sub-par, at best. I could list excuses, most notably the lack of my CJ muse, but what good would that do? Hopefully I'll get my act together by next week. Until then, all reviews are greatly appreciated. Take care.


	5. Chapter Five: White Chrysanthemums

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Shelton Benjamin, or other wrestlers that appear in the following story. They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.

SPOILERS: Discussion of matches from 6-7-04 Raw.

* * *

Flowers for Jericho

CHAPTER FIVE

It was time to call in the troops. He certainly couldn't handle this on his own anymore.

Pacing in front of the two seated individuals, Chris focused his gaze on his dressing room floor. Inwardly he cringed at the idea of asking for help, wondering if they would think him weak. Briefly he wondered if they would even agree to help him; they were the only two he was on decent terms with.

"Jericho, I have work to do. Could you get on with this?" Stephanie demanded, fiddling with the clipboard in her lap.

He sighed resolutely; he had no other choice. Stopping in his tracks, he raised his eyes to both parties. "You both probably know why you're here," he said. Both nodded, encouraging him to continue. "Dealing with Trish is one thing. Dealing with her, plus… the other problem… is too much."

"What do you want us to do?" Shelton interjected. He wasn't expecting Chris to mention Trish as his primary problem, and had no intentions of getting involved in that feud. Tyson Tomko was not somebody he'd like to add to his list of 'People I've Pissed Off.'

Chris shrugged, wincing as the movement pulled at the already aching muscles of his midsection. "I have no idea. I haven't made any progress in figuring out who she is."

Stephanie stood up abruptly. "I don't have time to figure out who your little stalker is. I'm outta here."

Her retreat was stopped by Shelton reaching up and grabbing the back of her shirt. He gave her the evil eye and tugged her back in her chair. "Sit down, woman. You have to help."

Stephanie huffed, glaring at the younger man. "I don't have to do anything I don't want to do."

Shelton bit back a laugh at her sulking. "Funny; I thought you'd like the opportunity to do something that didn't involve being Bischoff's bitch."

Her scowl deepened, making both men chuckle a bit. "If I were you rookie, I would watch who you call a bitch," she threatened quietly, unable to believe that even Shelton Benjamin could take pot shots at her now. Wondering when the bulls-eye was drawn on her chest, she turned back towards Chris. "So? How do I figure into this little plan of yours?"

Unable to stand any longer, Chris sank down onto the cot he was able to request for his locker room. Stretching out on his back carefully, he turned his head and sent a leer in her direction. "Well, I require your services…" he paused, allowing her face to distort into that of utter disgust before continuing, "As a technician."

"Backstage coordinator," she corrected with a growl. She hated being compared to those geeks.

"Whatever." Chris waved a dismissive hand. "I need you to use those 'under you', and I use that term figuratively, to keep an eye out for flower deliveries to my locker room."

Steph shook her head fervently. "No way. If I do that, then it looks like I want you for myself," she complained, spitting out the words. She could already hear all those big-mouthed technicians spreading rumors backstage about her "insane jealousy for Jericho's mystery Mama."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Allow me to let you in on a little secret, Princess. Your image is, and always will remain, trashy to everyone that works for the WWE. Showing your interest in the 'King of the World' won't send anyone into conniptions." Noting her fury, he gave her a large smile. "Basically, you're a scheming slut. But like the song goes, 'every rose has its thorn'."

That was about all Stephanie could take, and yet, she couldn't bring herself to throw her usual hissy and stomp out of the room. The taunting was better than hurrying back to a job that she despised. Rubbing at her temples with her index fingers, she locked an evil stare on the smirking rookie. "Sure, laugh it up kid. Hanging out with Jericho has definitely rubbed off on you in the worst way."

The younger man shrugged, unable to refute her statement. "I've always had an 'appetite for destruction'," he remarked, winking in the blond man's direction.

Startled by his words, Jericho leaned up on his elbows. "Have you now, 'sweet child o' mine'?" he asked carefully, ignoring Stephanie's confused eyes.

"Yeah, I discovered it 'without you'," Shelton responded, amused as hell when Jericho's eyes bugged out.

"What is going on?" Stephanie interjected, tired of the two men talking in secret code. Unfortunately, when one grows up in the snotty, upper-upper class of Connecticut, one has little to no reason to listen to heavy metal. The pretension in the Greenwich air was heavy enough. It was no big surprise, then, that she did not hold the Rosetta stone to this conversation.

"Benji!" Chris exclaimed, disregarding Stephanie's question (and thus causing her internal anger to reach a 5.6 on the Richter scale). "I knew with a little 'patience' that you'd come around."

"Benji?" Stephanie knew that no one was listening to her, but she couldn't help repeating the nickname. "What are you, his dog?"

Shelton snorted at this. "Yeah, I'm his dawg all right," he joked, clapping Steph on the shoulder with his hand. "'Live and let die', I always say."

Chris's brow furrowed. "They didn't write that song. It doesn't count."

"STOP!" Both men finally looked at Stephanie, who was more than happy to serve them up fresh looks of death. "I'm not going to sit here and be ignored while you two talk nonsense." With a curt nod, she gathered her clipboard to her chest and left the dressing room, desperate to find people that spoke understandable English.

"Don't forget about the plan!" Chris called after her, receiving a middle finger before she disappeared from view. Once she was gone, both men allowed themselves to laugh out loud at the little game they had played. "I didn't know you liked Guns 'n' Roses Benji."

"I grew up in the 80's. MTV was my life," was Shelton's response. "Does Axl Rose know that he's your fashion icon?"

With no direct retort, the other man decided to change the subject. "After my match tonight, we are going to initiate Operation: Break-in," Chris stated, saying the last few words in a deep announcer's voice.

Shelton blinked; so it was true, Jericho had gone off the deep end. Standing up, he put his hands up and shook his head repeatedly. "Hell no! Like I told you on the phone the other day, I don't want any part of breaking into the women's locker room."

The blond man sat up with a pout. "But you're my only…" he trailed off, not wanting to reveal that he considered Shelton to be his only friend. He reminded himself of the image he had to protect, and forged ahead. "Consider this your initiation to Raw. All of us who switched shows had to do something embarrassing; the guys probably hate you because you got off so easy."

"Oh yeah? What did you have to do?" Shelton demanded to know. This initiation business sounded like a load of crap, and yet he had seen what Tajiri was forced to do to the Coach.

Chris rubbed the back of his neck and laughed. "They made me sing the Canadian national anthem in front of everyone in the cafeteria."

The younger man rolled his eyes. "That's so embarrassing; however did you ever cope?"

"I wasn't done yet. I was only wearing a jock strap that had a maple leaf drawn on the crotch. And the UnAmericans just happened to be eating at the time. Needless to say, they weren't amused."

The mental image of Chris Jericho fleeing the cafeteria in nothing but a jock strap almost made Shelton break down and laugh. However, he kept his cool, the smirk on his face the only indicator of his inner amusement. "I thought you were friends with the UnAmericans."

Chris's eyes darkened, the humor disappearing into anger. "Just Christian," he muttered, disgusted with himself for starting up with that cad. Noting Shelton's discomfort, he returned to the issue at hand. "So you see, you are getting off easier than I did. I'll watch the door while you break in and look for clues. Flowers, little white cards, anything. It's full-proof."

Shelton groaned; he knew he wouldn't be able to talk himself out of this scheme. But this plan was less than full-proof. "What if she delivers the flowers between our matches, when neither of us is in your locker room?"

Chris grinned evilly, holding up a silver key. "Bribed the janitor. This door will be locked when we're not here."

The younger man's stomach started to hurt. "What… what if someone's in there before I break in?"

Chris chuckled. "You'd better go fast then. And enjoy the view."

The idea of Operation: Break-in weighed heavily in Shelton's mind, so much in fact that he unwittingly borrowed a page from Jericho's book and was completely distracted during his match with Batista. In fact, he almost rejoiced in the beat down that Evolution doled to him afterwards, viewing it as the perfect excuse to getting out of the crazy plot.

Even though Shelton had only been Y2J's friend for a short time, he should have known better.

After the referees scraped him up from the mat, Shelton stumbled backstage to find Chris holding a number of ice packs and an apologetic smile. "I should have gotten ready for my match sooner," he commented quietly, handing the ice to the younger man. Truth be told, Jericho felt sorry that he hadn't been able to save his friend; however, apologies from the 'King of the World' were far and few between.

Despite the fact that his entire body was screaming for medical attention, Shelton managed a smile. "You wouldn't have been much help, Gimpy," he remarked, pressing one of the ice packs to his forehead.

"I could beat those stooges any day, even with sore ribs," Chris boasted, completely aware of the fact that he was full of bullshit. "Speaking of stooges, I'd better go see who Bischoff set me up with. Feel free to use the cot in my locker room." With a wink and an encouraging pat on the back, Chris made his way to the curtain.

"Gee, thanks," Shelton said wryly, to no one in particular. Forcing his legs to function, he pushed himself off the wall he leaned on and stumbled down the hallway, not caring whom he ran into.

The fourth person he collided into gave him a bemused expression. "You owe me one, rookie," Stephanie commented lightly as she wrapped an arm around his midsection and led him towards Jericho's locker room.

Shelton groaned as her fingers pressed into a growing bruise on his side. "I could have made it back," he protested weakly, nearly falling into her.

Her laugh reverberated through him as she paused, allowing him to regain his balance. "Too much time with Jericho," she said, echoing her words from before.

Oblivious to his friends' excursion, Chris was busy trying to find a way to tame the gorilla that was attacking him. Unlike Shelton (and the Chris Jericho of the last few weeks), he was focused on his opponent and the match he participated in, and despite a number of crushing blows to his midsection, the focus paid off. Exhilarated by his victory, he almost skipped up the ramp and towards his locker room, excited by the prospect of Operation: Break-in.

What he stumbled into backstage could have been described as Operation: Clusterfuck. Referees were bounding around, trying to stop the two tussling men in the middle of the floor. To his surprise, he recognized Shelton as one of the participants, currently delivering a number of body shots to a furious Tyson Tomko.

A female shriek caught his attention, and he saw Trish and Stephanie struggling with a folding chair. Quickly piecing together the facts, he stepped around the referees and swiftly kicked Tomko in the side. The giant man grunted, releasing his choke hold on Shelton's neck, allowing Chris to yank the young man up by the back of his singlet. The referees immediately took action, jumping on Tomko to restrain him while Chris held back a panting Shelton. A loud slap was then heard, and Stephanie handed the chair to a nearby technician while she glared down at a floored Trish.

"You bitch!" Trish yelled above the crowd. "Just wait until I tell Eric…"

Stephanie leaned down, saying something that Chris couldn't hear. From the look on Trish's face, though, it wasn't pretty. The blonde woman's face screwed into an angry scowl, which only deepened at Stephanie's laugh. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, the brunette looked over at the two men briefly before retreating down the hallway, ignoring the threats that Trish called out after her.

A groan from Shelton reminded Chris of the dead weight he was currently holding. Realizing that Operation: Break-in was now a bust, he silently led the injured man around the crowd of referees and to his locker room. Despite the fact that Shelton had nobly prevented an ambush, Chris found himself rather pissed off at the younger man. He had been eager to follow through with his plan and try to gain some ground on his secret admirer. But, as usual, his plans were ruined by circumstance.

Despite his boasts of it being a full-proof plan, Operation: Break-in would have been a failure. Chris bitterly realized that he had forgotten to lock the door before his match when saw the flowers sitting in his locker room. Cursing, he dragged Shelton over to his cot and arranged the passed-out man onto it. Without a second look at the bouquet he dashed out of the room, hoping that at least Stephanie came through with her part of his plan.

He met her half-way to the trainer's area, juggling a few ice-packs on her clipboard. "Here, for the rookie," she stated, handing Chris the bundle. "Is he alright?"

Chris shook his head, not wanting to talk about the condition of the other man. "Passed out. Tell me that one of your techies saw someone go into my locker room with the flowers," he demanded.

Stephanie blanched, avoiding his hard blue gaze. He stiffened, her reaction telling him what he wanted to know. "They already came?" she asked softly.

Unable to stop himself, he dropped the ice and grabbed her shoulders, making her look into his eyes. She jumped at his touch, her clipboard falling to the floor. "Yes, they already came," he hissed out. "I asked for one favor, one little thing."

"And I was busy!" she argued back, her hands clenching Jericho's wrists. A scowl hid the growing fear inside of her. "You'll have your little spies by next week."

Chris trembled with anger. It was a large mistake on her part to treat the situation so lightly. "Next week!" he bellowed, shaking her a bit. "Next week is too goddamn late, Stephanie!"

Steph, for her part, remained stoic and calm on the outside. The crazed look in his eyes was what caused her heart to hammer in her chest. She sensed a breaking point rapidly approaching, and knew that she had to make herself scarce or face physical consequences much worse than a little shaking. "Let me go," she ground out, pleading with her eyes to release her. When he didn't react, she dug her nails into his wrists, causing him to gasp and her to wiggle away. Swooping down quickly, she grabbed her clipboard and ran away from the enraged man, thankful after a few seconds when she realized he was not chasing after her. Taking refuge in the women's bathroom, she locked herself in a stall and tried to catch her breath. She knew what had set him off, and she didn't blame him; what she didn't understand were the tears that were trickling down her cheeks.

A bit shell-shocked at what had happened, Chris ran a hand through his hair and forced himself to calm down. He knew he had nearly plunged into the deep end, and it scared the hell out him. Suddenly exhausted, he bent down to pick up the forgotten ice-packs and walked back to his locker room. He knew that despite his aggression Stephanie would fulfill her part of the bargain. This did little to quiet his growing agitation.

Shelton was still passed out on the cot when he returned, jumping only slightly when Chris placed the ice-packs on his head and swelling side. With no other reason to stall, he turned his attention to the bouquet.

Five white chrysanthemums (a staple in his mother's flower garden) proudly stood in a small vase. They were flanked by two bundles of unknown greenery. Chris leaned down to smell the mysterious flowers and immediately recognized their fragrance as rosemary. His eyebrow lifted as he appraised the odd bouquet; he couldn't quite classify it as cheap, but it was definitely inexpensive.

The simple white card beckoned at him from amidst the white buds. His fingers hesitated momentarily before he plucked it from the fork and opened it. _'Good luck on Sunday - I'll be cheering for you.'_ Again, it lacked a flowery doodle or poetic words that the first few cards possessed.

Tossing the card beside the vase, Chris rubbed at his eyes. He wasn't sure if he missed the sappy sentiments that her first cards held; these were much more… tolerable, to say the least. And yet, they caused the same sort of ache in his chest. The need to solve this mystery was ever present; he hoped to have a breakthrough next week.

Little did he know that he already possessed the key.

END CHAPTER FIVE

* * *

Author's notes: Did you figure out who it is? ::grins:: It's pretty obscure, but I trust that someone will figure it out. This chapter was a struggle, but I think my muse is slowly coming back to me. Of course, seeing Jericho live this coming Sunday at Bad Blood should hopefully kick me back into gear. Can't wait for your reviews!


	6. Chapter Six: Variegated Tulips

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Stephanie McMahon, or other wrestlers that appear in the following story. They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.

SPOILERS: Discussion of results from Bad Blood pay-per-view and matches from 6-14 Raw.

* * *

Flowers for Jericho

CHAPTER SIX

_Whoever coined the phrase 'history repeats itself' definitely knew his shit_.

This was the thought running through Chris Jericho's head as he proceeded to stare down Hunter in the middle of the ring. He had just finished warning Eugene about Triple H's tendency to deceive when the subject of their conversation came out to refute the claims. And after Hunter had run his mouth, giving Eugene presents and thoroughly brainwashing the innocent lad, he had turned his attention back to Chris.

The blond Canadian did his best impression of brave as he glared at Hunter and his ever-present posse, while inwardly he fumed about what happened earlier that evening. Two hours earlier, Shelton had just arrived at the arena where he was 'warmly' greeting by Evolution, being thrown into his rental car headfirst until he went unconscious. Although the attack was probably Shelton's punishment for nearly beating Randy Orton last night at Bad Blood, Jericho supposed that Triple H didn't mind smacking around the kid that had placed two losses on his record.

When a parking lot attendant found Shelton's body, he called for an ambulance (which would come in handy; Shelton and Shawn Michaels became ambulance buddies after Kane's beat down of the Heart Break Kid). The workers told Stephanie; Stephanie sought out and told Jericho.

And now, Chris fought the urge to tell off Hunter. Flip him the bird. Punch him in his gigantic schnoz. Anything. He wanted a piece of the cocky bastard, but he couldn't do a damn thing with his still sore ribs and the Triple H fan club ready to pounce. So Chris settled for issuing a rather unsatisfying verbal warning to Triple H. They exchanged words and a few more fist-clenching moments before both parties retreated backstage.

Once Chris was past the curtain, his cool image shattered to reveal the pure hatred and disgust that swirled within him. If Trish Stratus had been a thorn in his side, Hunter Hearst Helmsley was a javelin.

Of course, thorns and javelins in his side were nothing compared to the McMahon on his back.

"Jericho, stop!" Stephanie called as she ran to catch up to him. He had walked right by her on his way to his locker room, without a glance in her direction.

He sighed, hoping she'd disappear. If his ignorance of her presence hadn't been accidental, it would definitely have been intentional. "I have a match to get ready for," he tossed over his shoulder. Actually, he was kind of surprised she was chasing after him, after the incident that occurred between them last week.

"Not for another," she glanced at her watch quickly, "Thirty-three minutes!"

"That's thirty-three minutes that I don't have for you. Go find someone else to bother."

Chris entered his locker room, slamming the door in her face. He stepped back far enough in time to avoid the same door flying back towards him.

For her part, Stephanie had tried to be reasonable with Chris's avoidance. After all, she had dealt with her ex-husband for two years; she knew the emotions that Hunter could stir up. But her patience was thin, and it snapped when Jericho's door grazed her nose. NOBODY messed with her nose; it was her sweet sixteen present from her father (to fix her "deviated septum", a common epidemic among the Greenwich pre-teens). "You ungrateful asshole!" she shouted, stomping into his room and getting right into his face. "Blowing me off like that!"

Chris collapsed into a folding chair, his 'Hunter Anger' deflating into 'Stephanie Frustration'. _It's 2001 all over again._ "You're a bit confused, Steph. See, YOU'RE the one that blows people off." He took a second to look her over, thoughtfully scratching at his chin. "I would have to assume that all services are at a discount these days; after all, you are JUST a technician."

"Back. Stage. Coordinator," she enunciated. He was egging her on, and as usual, she fell into the trap. "Oh gosh, you called me a slut! My ego is shattered," she said bitingly, rolling her eyes. She was rather sick of hearing him call her a slut; she hadn't had 'relations' with anyone in over two years. "Can't you think of anything original? Or has the 'King of the World' lost his touch?"

The blond shrugged. "If it ain't broke…" Stephanie grunted, fixing a glare on him, but did not storm out like he hoped. "Don't you have work to do?" he asked, waving a hand in dismissal.

Steph made no move to leave. "Don't you want to know who sent you those?" she retorted, pointing towards a bench by the bathroom.

Chris's eyes followed her finger until they rested on a bouquet of tulips. "Shit," he mumbled, his hands automatically clenching into fists. He was unsure if the gift had arrived during his interview with Eugene or if it had been there longer, which was rather embarrassing to admit.

Stephanie did have a knack for being consistently observant. "You don't know when you got those, do you?" she snickered, shifting her weight from one foot to another. "And I thought you just HAD to solve this mystery. Where are your priorities, Jericho?"

Aside from the shudder her annoying tone sent down his spine, Stephanie's words sparked something in Jericho's mind. His eyes immediately snapped to hers. "You know something," he stated, trying not to sound too eager.

Stephanie mock-yawned, and then examined her nails. "I know a lot of things, Jericho," she stated dryly. "Speaking of things, isn't your match coming up? I'd better just run along." And with those words, she sent him a sly smile and turned towards the door.

Biting back a snide comment, Chris leapt from his seat and caught her by the arm. He knew the game she was playing; it was one of her favorites during their partnership. She would find out something valuable, he would piss her off, and then she'd make him suffer before disclosing the desired information. Once again, he was dimly reminded of his earlier observation about history repeating itself as he turned Stephanie to face him. "Stephanie, darling, I still have plenty of time before my match…" he trailed off, disguising his disgust with a grin. "Please, sit and relax." Chunks were rising in his throat from all this butt kissing.

Chris wasn't the only one getting ill; but Stephanie would rather vomit on his shoes than stop the show that he started. She silently allowed him to seat her in his vacated chair, and then barely held back a giggle when he squatted down in front of her like a puppy dog. "My my my, how it all changes when you want something from me," she teased.

They both knew that he would take that statement the wrong way, but they also knew that he couldn't speak any of the half-million retorts he dreamed up. Biting his tongue, Chris offered a larger, faker smile. "Anything for a beautiful princess like yourself."

Stephanie's nose scrunched up. "That was terrible. You'll have to do better than that; and I suggest you stay away from the cheese."

His patience, already worn thin by her ex-husband, begged to snap. He could almost feel the smooth skin of her throat as he strangled the breath out of her. But instead, he channeled it into his demented smile and fake flattery. Unfortunately, he knew what it would take to end this exhibition of power. With a guttural sigh, he lowered himself to a sitting position in front of her, taking her feet into his lap. Rolling up the cuff of her jeans, he removed the low heels she wore and began to rub her feet.

Chris's actions were dead-on; Stephanie's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she nearly slipped off the chair. She never thought he'd stoop to rubbing her feet again, especially with her lower status within the company. But he had been a good pupil during their partnership, and she supposed she didn't give him enough credit. "That is heavenly," she moaned, pushing her feet into his fingers. Another minute and she'd tell him her PIN number for her bank account; much less tell him what he wanted to know.

He grunted in response, concentrating on the task at hand. He knew that, God willing, he only needed to rub for about another minute before he could probe for information. Sadly, though, with many seconds to spare, he found himself… somewhat enjoying the foot massage he administered. Chris hadn't touched a female in ages, much less heard one moan passionately (to be more accurate, Stephanie was now cooing, a common response from a modern woman who was forced to wear heels everyday). And, despite her obvious character flaws, Stephanie was, at the very core, an attractive woman with pedicured toenails. After admiring her admittedly cute toes, he mentally slapped himself from his foolish thoughts. "So what did your spies see?" he asked quietly, making sure to press his fingers between her toes.

Stephanie was in her own little world, where only words and the lovely feeling of rubbed feet exist. "Mmmmm… one guy saw Stacy Keibler going into your locker room right as your interview with Eugene began. Oooohhhh… do the toe thing again, please…" she begged.

Chris's heart leapt into his throat as he idly fulfilled her request. _Stacy,_ his mind repeated. He had

He had talked with her a few weeks back, and she seemed totally clueless about the flowers he had been receiving. _Then again, she could have been pretending to be clueless_. That thought alone boggled him; if it were true, it was a perfect act. He always considered her to be an airhead. "She had the tulips then?" he pressed. He needed verification.

To his surprise, the woman seated before him shook her head. "Nuh-uhhhhhh… she wasn't holding them. She stole your sexy beast t-shirt though. My spy … mmmm… left his post to tell me after that, so I don't have … ahhhhh … any more details." Knowing that this bit of information would be particularly disappointing, Stephanie reluctantly pulled her feet away from his busy hands and left her foot happy paradise. Immediately noticing the excitement fading from his light blue eyes, her heart surprisingly clenched in response and she sprang into action. "Hey, it's a lead. Maybe she knows who the admirer is and wanted to make sure nobody was in here before…"

"Before the admirer dropped off the tulips," Chris finished for her, his mind whirling into action. Any disappointment he felt was cast aside by growing excitement; it was, as Stephanie said, his first real lead. "So Stacy's in on it, huh? Well this should be a piece of cake," he said, a real grin now gracing his face.

"And why would that be?"

Stephanie had walked into yet another booby trap set by the king of egomaniacs himself. "Because no one has eeeeeeeeever resisted my charms," he replied, giving her a smirk.

She raised an eyebrow in his direction. "I always have."

Jericho did a double take, and found her to be absolutely serious. _Did she… is she implying that she WANTED to be seduced by me?_ Discarding that stupid thought, he longed to be rid of the unsettling feeling that resided in his stomach. And there was only one way he knew how to do that. "You think I would have wasted my charms on you, devil woman?" He stood up, offering her a hand up from her chair. "I would never waste perfectly good lines on a cold-hearted slut such as you."

Stephanie allowed him to help her up, toeing her shoes back on. She then slapped the shit out of him, causing his head to whip to the side. Truth be told, he wasn't surprised by her reaction.

He wasn't shocked to see the familiar scowl that graced her features when he straightened up to face her.

He was slightly disturbed by the slight quivering of her chin.

And he was horrified to see the tears swimming in her eyes.

Stephanie didn't have much time before the awkward situation would escalate into something dreadfully worse. "You have crossed the line, Chris Jericho," she hissed, her voice breaking on his name. And with the realization that she could no longer make out his confused blue eyes through her blurry vision, she turned around and left his dressing room. And just like last week, Chris let her go.

He stood there, staring at his door like a moron as his thoughts collided into one another.

_I need to get ready for my match.  
__I can't believe she was going to cry!  
__Stacy might know who the admirer is!  
__Since when has there been a line?  
__Why did she steal my shirt?  
__I really need to get ready for my match.  
__She's never cried before…  
__What does the card say?_

The last thought was the easiest to deal with. Pushing all his other thoughts aside, Chris walked over to the mix of tulips. Three were solid white, the rest were striped with burgundy. Running a suddenly shaky hand through his hair, he plucked the card from the six buds and opened it.

No flower doodles. No flowery words. Just nine simple words. '_Congratulations on your victory – I had faith in you.'_

Before he could even try to decode this message, there came a pounding at his locker room door. "Our match is in ten. You wanna get your ass out here so we can talk strategy?" Edge's voice floated through the steel.

Chris groaned, setting the card back in the bouquet. Resisting the urge to tell his tag partner to get bent, he knew that he'd be much better off pursuing the card later, with Shelton around to add his input. The thought of his badly beaten friend rekindled his interest in kicking Evolution's collective ass, which renewed his interest in the upcoming match. With one last glance at his mysterious flowers, Chris walked to his door and exited his locker room.

Once in the hallway, both Edge and the ever-quiet Chris Benoit fixed him with the evil eye. "Nice of you to find time for us," Edge bit out.

With a shrug, Jericho allowed his cocky façade to slip back into place. "Boys, boys," he chided, moving between them and slinging his arms around their necks, "The King of the World always has time for his worthy friends."

Such truer words had never been spoken.

END CHAPTER SIX

* * *

Author's notes: I know, I know, Shelton had a match on Sunday Night Heat, but my Shelton muse demanded another reason. Had it not been for my CJ muse returning at the last minute, I might have spent six pages lamenting my Benji's absence from Raw :)

I like this chapter; I feel as if I've fallen back into my groove. Going to Bad Blood last Sunday was the best therapy for an over-stressed girl such as me. Since I could sit here and type every last detail of the evening, I have settled on top 5 best moments from the pay-per-view:

5. Realizing that my seats were amazing (I was in the fifth row of the camera-side lower ring of seats, directly next to said cameras).  
4. Batista flexing, repeatedly, in my direction (dear God, is that man ripped).  
3. Starting a 'Shelton' cheer for my new love Benji ;)  
2. My brother telling me I was acting like Eugene when Chris Jericho came out (I was standing in the aisle, holding up a sign that said 'I HEART JERICHO', jumping up and down and screaming like a proper fan girl).  
1. Touching Shane McMahon. Yes, you read that right; if you read online reports you know that Shane-O was there. He walked out at the beginning of the Eugene match, and sat beside the camera in the section beside mine. Of course, when I realized who it was, I tried to tackle him; damn security lady held me back but I did manage to touch his shoulder and tell him that I loved him (it was more of a 'in the moment' love, to be honest). I swear he smiled at me when I said this (could have been delusional, but come on, it was at least amusing to him, watching me fight the fat bitch of a security lady). When I sat back down, I took a million pictures of his profile. I kept yelling over to him that he should come back and take out HHH. Mainly, I just STARED at him. After all, it was Shane McMahon, can you blame me? :)

Oookay, long author's notes. Sorry about that. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, please review and let me know what you think. Every review that I get, good or bad, is an honor, and I take them all to heart. Take care!


	7. Chapter Seven: Tiger Lilies

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Shelton Benjamin, or other wrestlers that appear in the following story. They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.

SPOILERS: Discussion of results from 6-21 Raw.

* * *

Flowers for Jericho

CHAPTER SEVEN

_Smack._

The sound of skin against concrete filled the deserted hallway in five second intervals. It hurt like hell, but he didn't stop.

_Smack._

He had been so close. His mouth was filled with sweet victory. He didn't understand what went wrong. He did everything perfectly.

_Smack._

Blood was dripping from raw knuckles onto the white tile floor. It also painted the wall after each punch. But he couldn't get a grasp on the situation, and therefore he continued to punch. It was the only way he knew to deal.

_Smack._

His worst fear had come to light: he was a failure. Two wins against Triple H didn't mean shit when he couldn't beat his lackey; it turned him into a fluke.

_Smack._

This time, as he drew his hand back, someone grabbed his wrist. "Benji, you've got the expression all wrong. Its punch a PILLOW, not the wall," a snarky voice stated.

The intruder had successfully drawn him out of his thoughts. Unfortunately, excruciating pain was waiting for him at the door of reality. "Motherfucker," Shelton hissed as bolts of fire shot up and down his arm. His first instinct was to clutch the wounded appendage to himself; however, his companion's hand would not let him move an inch.

Meanwhile, Chris Jericho had busied himself with examining the bloodied hand. Tongue sticking out in concentration, he prodded the knuckles carefully, ignoring Shelton's yelps and curses. "Hmmmm…" he drawled out, wiping the blood from his finger on Shelton's t-shirt, "Looks pretty bad."

"No shit, Sherlock," Shelton grumbled, finally managing to yank his hand away, balling it into his t-shirt.

"Jericho," Chris corrected with a grin. "I never thought you'd be an S&M kind of guy. Then again, you were managed by Angle for an extended period of time." Mock-concern filled his face as the blond man placed a hand on Shelton's shoulder. "He didn't…. _force_ himself on you, did he?" he gasped.

Shelton's scowl deepened at the mention of his former mentor. Kurt Angle was a perfectionist, and demanded such from those around him; if Shelton had still been under his wing it was safe to say that the Olympic Hero would have berated him for weeks for his loss at Bad Blood. "Go to hell, Jericho," he growled, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder and starting down the hallway.

Apparently, the young man had forgotten about Chris Jericho's complete inability to take a hint.

"I'll drop you off at the trainer," Chris said as he jogged up to Shelton's side. "Maybe I'll get a gold star for being a good boy scout."

His head was starting to throb as bad as his hand. Stopping abruptly, Shelton pinned Chris down with a deadly glare. "I don't need your attitude or your so-called help right now, Jericho. I suggest you get lost before I beat you with my good hand."

Jericho was less than intimidated. In fact, he snorted at Shelton's ill attempt of a threat. "Please, Benji, I'd sooner be afraid of Stephanie's bitch slap than a one-handed rookie," he commented dryly. "I think you've had one too many shots to the head by Evolution last week."

"Shut up Jericho." Shelton resumed walking.

"Make me," Chris dared, keeping pace beside him.

The young man bit his tongue to keep himself in check. He knew he didn't have a chance against the blond man in his current condition. With a sigh, he gave up trying to get rid of Jericho and summoned up the remainder of his patience to deal with the irritating man. Inwardly, Shelton wished that he had kicked the Canadian out of his locker room weeks ago, much less befriended him.

Shelton's patience would be tried immediately, for Jericho took the young man's silence as accepting defeat. "I knew you'd come to your senses sooner or later," Chris stated smugly. "If it had been sooner, perhaps that wall would have been spared."

"Drop it, Jericho." If there was anything that Shelton was unwilling to discuss, it was the scene that Chris had walked in on earlier.

"Hmmm… I don't think so. Otherwise I'll find you beating your head against the wall next week, and that's two weeks of bood clean-up for the janitors. They'll go on strike, Bischoff will force his staff to do the dirty work, and Stephanie will fall into depression from not making any money from being on her hands and knees all night."

In Jericho's defense, the blond was indeed concerned for his friend. He had never seen the young man act so irrationally, and it bothered him. But, his need to lighten the mood made his concern appear lukewarm.

Shelton glanced at his hand, and then shook his head at Chris. The last thing he needed, or anyone else for that matter, was to be psychoanalyzed by Jericho's barbed tongue. "You wouldn't understand."

Jericho chuckled. "Probably not; I would never intentionally destroy this exquisite physique. But if this is about Evolution, then…"

"Not every damn thing around here is about Evolution," Shelton sniped.

The blond raised an eyebrow at the other man's tone. "That's funny; the last few weeks the only think you've been about is Evolution."

Shelton's thin string of patience snapped, and he lashed out at Chris with his good arm. Barely dodging his fist, Jericho quickly reversed the move, using Shelton's momentum to pin the young man's arm behind his back. The young man's shoulders sagged, unable and unwilling to struggle.

Chris, surprised by Shelton's venomous move, decided that a bit of seriousness was a necessity here. "I'll drop this for now Benji, but you better be ready to talk after you've calmed the fuck down."

Shelton didn't want to talk. He didn't want to think about Evolution. He didn't want to see the trainer. But in his current position, he didn't have much of a choice. Gritting his teeth, he hung his head and allowed the blond to lead him down the hallway, good arm still pinned behind his back.

* * *

"A friend in need is a pest."

Chris echoed these immortal words of Bobby 'The Brain Heenan after he dropped off Shelton with the trainer. With Raw already a quarter of the way finished, he found that he had set an all time record for selfless thinking: thirty minutes.

Well, _almost_ completely selfless thinking. It was only natural for Chris to resent Shelton's injury. He no longer had backup against any surprise attacks from Hunter or the rest of the Fab Four. Worse, he didn't have anyone to help him track down his admirer.

Hell, he didn't have anyone.

A few weeks ago, this would have been fine, welcome even. But after Shelton had forced his friendship upon Chris, he had warmed up to having someone to talk to.

But now, Shelton would be out for weeks on end. The only other person he cared to see (if only to tease the hell out of her) was Stephanie… and she had made herself scarce all night. It would have worried him (given that just last week, he had referred to her as the 'McMahon on his back'), had he ACTUALLY wanted to speak to her and he wasn't already busy worrying about Shelton.

It was in that moment that Chris decided he was tired of worrying about others. It was far past time that he worried about himself.

Chris had never managed to run across Stacy Keibler last week and grill her about the flowers; she had left the arena before he was eliminated from the six-man tag match. Now, he found himself eager to find the leggy blonde and follow up on his only solid lead. His heart was pounding with excitement; he had no doubt that:  
1. She knew something, and  
2. She would tell him what she knew.

While Stacy Keibler was somewhat surprised to see Chris Jericho stroll up to her, she was quickly prepared to make her move. Of course, he totally missed the meaning behind her coy smile and hair toss as he stopped a few feet away from her. "Stacy, Stacy, Stacy, what are you doing hiding back here?"

Disliking the distance between them, the blonde stepped closer to Chris, striking a rather unnatural pose that emphasized her small stomach and hips. "I'm sorry Chrissy, were you looking for me?" she asked, letting her hand fall onto his chest. Inwardly, she complemented herself on her subtle flirting.

Due to his one-track mind, Chris took no notice of her gestures; the nickname, however, grated on his nerves a bit. "Was I looking for you? Was I looking for you?" he repeated, feigning shock. "We had that lovely chat a few weeks ago, and I haven't been able to find you since. I thought we HAD something special!" Barely managing to suppress his laughter, he pressed a hand to his forehead and tried to walk away. "I can see that you want nothing to do with me."

She fell right into the trap, stumbling over her own feet as she scrambled to grab his arm. "Chris, no!" she nearly shouted, spinning him around and giving him her best puppy dog eyes. "I thought… no, it's silly," she said, looking away to hide her smirk.

Her cheap move worked. Chris's heart leapt forward; her actions convinced him that she was hiding her guilt over the flowers. Reaching up, he tilted her chin back towards him, looking into her brown eyes with the sexiest look he could muster. "Anything that comes from that brain of yours can't be called silly," he admonished.

Silly, no. Ridiculous, ludicrous, obtuse, mindless drivel, yes.

Although Stacy had begun the flirting session with all intentions of catching Jericho, it was she who was biting the hook and being reeled in. "Oh Chrissy-wissy, I thought you hated me!" she babbled, flinging herself into his arms. "And I couldn't understand why you'd ever hate widdle Stacy-wacy."

Chris could not suppress his shudder at her words. Baby talk had always been the bane of his existence. Her high-pitched voice, coupled with her lackluster ability to rhyme their names, was provoking his upchuck reflex in the most unsettling way. He decided that it was time to take action, and not the kind that would result in her shoes meeting his late lunch. "Stace, hon, I know you were in my dressing room last week, and I know what you did," he stated gently, pulling her back.

Her eyes grew impossibly wide, to the point where even Bambi would have retched in disgust. "You do?" At his nod, she nervously grabbed at her hair, twirling the ends. "I hope you're not mad at me."

Chris couldn't believe that she confessed to the crime so quickly. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples, and tried to reign in his excitement. After all, he didn't need a repeat of last week's disappointment. "Why did you do it?" he prodded, his gentle tone turning rather demanding.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she pondered his question. "I was hoping to wear it and catch your attention later on tonight," she admitted after a minute.

He blinked a few times, taking in her words. The fog of confusion cleared when he realized that she was referring to his stolen property, not the flowers. "So you weren't in there for any other reason?" he asked, already bemoaning her answer.

"Nuh-uh," she said, shaking her head from side to side. She didn't notice the pain that washed over his face as she cuddled against his chest. "Do you hate me?" she asked in her high-pitched baby voice, hoping that he'd deny her words and gather her up for a frenzied kiss.

As mentioned before, she didn't know that her baby talk invoked a different kind of frenzy within Chris Jericho. No longer excited about his now worthless lead, he desired to be rid of the annoying blonde that clung to him. "Of course not, Stace," he sighed, pushing her away. He caught her hurt look, and begrudgingly gave her a half-smile. "I should go find Edge and talk about our match with Evolution. See you later."

"Be careful!" Stacy said to his already retreating back. She knew that he'd be upset about losing his t-shirt; if only he knew what she was planning to do with her stolen goods. With a snicker, she decided to hold off for another week until she executed her plan ("to allow his desire to grow," she told herself), and turned her attention to the approaching Matt Hardy.

Feeling completely dispirited, Chris trudged towards his dressing room. _Knowing my luck today, the flowers will already be there, _he thought to himself. He hadn't set up any sort of plan to catch his admirer today; a folly due to his assumption that Stacy would be more helpful than any sort of scheme. He immediately blamed Stephanie for giving him this false lead last week. Ever since he and Shelton had conned her into helping them, she had been nothing but useless.

Jericho was a few feet from his dressing room when he spotted Edge and the youngest McMahon talking beside it. Chris frowned, not wanting to deal with Stephanie and the incident that occurred between them last week. But not because he had said or done anything wrong; _she_ was the one that had flown off the handle. Therefore, she was the one that should grovel to him. Approaching the pair, he noted Edge's close proximity to Stephanie, provoking the baby talk-induced nausea to spike. "Edgeward, don't you know that it's never a good idea to ride the village bicycle?" he admonished.

Edge's eyes narrowed, while Stephanie scowled before returning her focus on the man beside her. "You must have Steph here confused with Trish, Jerky." To Chris's dismay, the taller man wrapped a supportive arm around Steph's midsection, giving her a grin before returning his attention to Jericho. "I do hope you wore a helmet."

Chris growled at his words and at Stephanie's laughter. He silently watched her place her hand on top of his, and turned towards his dressing room, unable to stomach the sickening display. The last thing he needed to see was the start of sad, pathetic puppy love. "If you want to talk strategy for tonight, I'll be in here. If you want to stay out here and catch whatever Stephanie's got, well, it was nice knowing ya." Grimacing at the mental image of Edge 'catching' anything, Chris opened his dressing room door, making sure the door slammed shut behind him.

"Somebody's jealous." Chris heard Edge's sing-song voice through the closed door.

_Could he be any further from the truth?_ Chris thought as he allowed himself to laugh. Jealousy over the youngest McMahon was the least of his worries; rather, he felt sorry for his fellow Canadian. Edge had been jinxed lately with a series of injuries; a fling with Stephanie would only rustle up more trouble. Chris continued to laugh as he remembered a particular incident during their partnership involving lotion and Hunter's beloved dog Lucy…

His laughter died away as he looked towards his gym bag and spied a bouquet of flowers beside it, confirming his earlier suspicion. The usual feeling of weary did not surface; rather, he felt almost calmed by the presence of the weekly gift. They did not shock him, like Shelton's meltdown, or bother him, like the couple that stood just outside his door. The flowers were part of his routine now.

Walking towards his things, he settled into a nearby chair before stroking the mixed lilies; four orange, three white. The blooms were flawless, making Chris wonder if these had been separated from a much fancier bouquet. In fact, on retrospect, last week's bouquet of variegated tulips (a name he learned, thanks to the Internet) was equally exquisite. Unsure of what an increase in quality could indicate, he turned his attention to the card.

Possessing similar cursive, with no flower doodles, the card said: _I dare you to be happy_. Despite its rather cryptic message, Chris felt a smile tug at his lips. If anything, his admirer had a knack for occasionally lifting his spirits.

Chris jumped as Edge suddenly burst into the locker room. Quickly replacing the card back amidst the flowers, he watched the tall man try to shake the dreamy look from his eyes. "Where is a Haz-mat suit when I need one?" Jericho grumbled loudly.

Edge, possessing an intricate knowledge of Jericho's games, remained calm at the jab. He knew that his best defense was to use Jericho's best offense: attitude. Leaning against the closest wall, the tall blond gave Chris the toothiest smile in his repertoire. "Let me help you look, Jerky. I'm tired of looking at those abs of flab as it is."

Jericho licked his lips, suppressing his retort. For despite Edge's willingness to play, Chris knew that he only had to utter Stephanie's infamous nickname to piss off his companion, something he'd rather not do with their tag match coming up. And despite his boasts of easy victory against Evolution, Chris needed Edge's backup.

A friend in need, indeed.

END CHAPTER SEVEN

* * *

Author's notes: I've been working on this chapter all week, and I am unsure of how I feel about the outcome. I thought of, and then decided against, putting the Shelton section into a separate companion fic, since he is injured and won't be on TV for awhile (my poor Benji!). Oh well, I think it sets the mood nicely, and I had to appease my Shelton muse.

Due to a couple reviews, I'd like to take the opportunity to make one idea clear: Jericho's secret admirer is NOT a man! Not Rob Conway, not Shelton (hilarious; could you see Shelton Benjamin sneaking around with bouquets of flowers?), and certainly not Rico (if he were currently on Raw, I'd totally write it in, but alas, the Fates are against me). So I hope that helps out a bit.

Anyway, thanks for all of your reviews so far, I am truly touched and honored that this story is so well-received amongst you all :) Please review and let me know what you think (even if it's to yell at me for bashing Stacy - I had to do it! lol) Take care, and I'll try (keyword: TRY) to get the next chapter out by this Friday.

PS: To Oliver Clothesoff: Love the name. And I like the way you think! ;)


	8. Chapter Eight: Jonquils

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Stacy Keibler, or other wrestlers that appear in the following story. They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.

SPOILERS: None that I can think of.

* * *

Flowers for Jericho

CHAPTER EIGHT

Like most of the arts, seduction requires a dedicated master.

Beyond cartwheels and acting ditzy, Stacy Keibler could not be assumed to be the master of anything. However, this did not deter her from her ploy. She wanted Chris Jericho, and tonight she was determined to seduce him.

Bouncing around on the balls of her feet, she stared at the door to his locker room, waiting for him to return from his tag match. Clad in nothing but his 'Sexy Beast' t-shirt and black stilettos, she thought herself the picture of splendor (in less eloquent terms, she deemed herself 'mega sexy'). Dressed as she was, she knew he wouldn't deny a massage once he arrived.

_And then_, she thought with a smirk, _she'd have him right where she wanted him: pinned underneath her._

Beyond blonde hair and a tendency to be oblivious, Stacy and Chris did have something else in common: a high failure rate of schemes. Unaware of this fact, she initiated step two of her plan (a seductive pose) once she heard the door opening. As a last minute thought, she grabbed one of the whitish-yellow flowers that sat in a nearby bouquet, sticking it behind her ear. Pasting on a sly smile, she looked up…

And met the surprised gaze of Shelton Benjamin. He gaped at her, appeared to blush slightly when he realized her state of dress (or undress), and quickly retreated to the hallway.

Most women would be horrified that another man saw them in a compromising position. Stacy, however, let out an embarrassed giggle before focusing again on her plan. She wasn't bothered in the least that Shelton had seen her; hell, she sold a million posters that featured her nearly naked ass.

She did, although, become slightly agitated when Stephanie McMahon barged in a second later. Scrambling out of her pose, she tugged on the bottom of her shirt and pinned the stunned brunette with the evil eye. "Do you mind?" she whined.

Stephanie shrugged, her shock passing. When Shelton had bolted out of Chris's locker room and told her that there was a half-naked chick inside, she had been too curious to see who it was. She expected Stacy, and was indeed correct. "Sorry," she apologized off-handedly, going to leave. Catching sight of the flowers on the table, with one in Stacy's hair, she couldn't help but pause and raise an eyebrow. "You better put that flower back, unless you want to piss off Jericho," she commented lightly.

Stacy pouted, stamping her foot on the ground. "And you had better get out of here before you piss me off!" she retorted, causing the other woman to laugh before exiting the room. Once again alone, she forced herself to calm down, running a hand lightly over her hair. One finger brushed against the blossom behind her ear, and Stephanie's words repeated themselves in her head. Stacy paid no attention to them; Chris Jericho did not seem the type to be agitated by misplaced flowers.

With that thought, Stacy officially doomed herself to an entire night of misfortune.

Third time was the charm; minutes later, Chris Jericho walked into his dressing room, scratching at his head, wondering why Stephanie and Shelton were laughing just outside.

Once he saw Stacy, he was in on the joke. He blushed a bit at her attire, but he was more embarrassed for her than turned on. "Um, hey Stacy," he stammered, averting his eyes to the floor.

Stacy's grin faltered a bit, confused as to why he didn't gape like Shelton. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she strolled up to him, determined to get her way. "What's wrong Chrissy; don't you like my surprise?" she purred, resting her hands on his chest and gazed into his clouded blue eyes.

Unable to look away, Chris looked down at the woman that clung to him. Sure she was pretty, but he had a whole list of objections that kept him from rocking her world (ranging from her past relationships to her obnoxious dialect of baby talk). Beyond staring at her perfect ass, there was no attraction; Chris preferred breasts anyway. Grabbing her hands, he pulled back and smirked at her pout. "Stacy, I'm flattered, but I…" he trailed off, finally noticing another piece of Stacy's stolen attire.

While Stacy tried to tear up a bit in order to change his mind, Chris yanked the flower out from behind her ear. Glancing from the white flower over to the table, he felt his discomfort slowly melt into anger. "Where did you get this?" he hissed, waving the flower in her face despite the fact that he knew the answer to his question.

Stacy watched his gaze harden, and audibly gulped, wishing she had heeded Stephanie's advice. "I…I…" she stuttered, wishing to high heaven that she could summon up those tears. The look in his eyes was starting to scare her.

Chris wanted to scream and shout at her, but her pathetic look nauseated him too much. Moving towards the bouquet on the table, he waved a hand at the exit. "Go get dressed, Klepto. Your skanky ass couldn't be cured with ten doses of Vitamin C, let alone one."

Stacy huffed, clearly offended by his words. "Have it your way, Chris Jericho; but I doubt anyone else will want YOU. You're the only guy in the entire locker room that was ever dumped by Trish Stratus." Satisfied with her retort, she broke into peals of laughter and left for the women's locker room.

Unclenching his fists, Chris mentally berated himself. He hated that Trish comments still got to him, still reminded him of his foolish behavior. She was a scar that hadn't healed completely; and Stacy's words effectively poked the wound. With a sigh, he forced himself to stop thinking about either Diva before his head exploded in frustration.

Stacy's snide comment did serve to remind him of someone who did want his attention: his secret admirer. Twirling the flower in his hand, Chris inhaled its light scent before returning it to the other seven flowers in the bouquet. He wasn't sure of the name; the light yellow-white color and the shape reminded him of daffodils. _My admirer must be getting pretty fancy_, he thought to himself as he plucked the card out of the blooms.

_Make a wish_, the card stated in blue cursive.

Another short message. _First a dare, now a wish_. _She's getting awful demanding._ "I wish I knew what these flowers were," he muttered out loud, turning the card over to check for any clues.

"Jonquils," Shelton said from the doorway. Chris turned around, a question on his lips, when he saw the young man holding a rather thick book in his good hand.

"So you knew these were in here?" the blond asked, walking over to take the proffered book.

Shelton shook his head. "Nah, I didn't see anything but legs. Steph caught sight of the bouquet and figured out what they were while you were keeping that Keibler elf off your tree."

Jericho groaned at Shelton's horrible pun. "Ha ha ha, Benji," he bit out sarcastically. "Don't quit your day job." Moving to sit in a nearby chair, he began to thumb through the book of flowers. "Where is Stephanie anyway? I'm surprised she isn't in here, ragging on me like you are."

With his attention focused on the book in his lap, Chris missed the rather curious look that Shelton gave him. "She has a date tonight with Edge. Said something about getting ready for dinner."

Chris frowned, pausing in his perusal to meet Shelton's eyes. "She turned down a free shot at me to get ready for a date? With Edge?" It just didn't make sense.

Shelton was highly amused at his companion's confusion. "Jealous? I'll tell her to make sure that she pays attention to you next week."

Surprise quickly turned into disgust for the blond Canadian. "Don't bother. It's nice to get rid of the McMahon on my back." Returning his attention to the book, he continued to search for the flowers in his bouquet.

"Whatever you say," Shelton said, rolling his eyes.

Despite an inward desire to end the subject at hand, Chris couldn't help but continue it. "I feel sorry for Edge. He's wasting money on the cow when he could get the milk for free."

"Perhaps you should have bought the cow first, if you enjoyed the milk so much," the young man retorted.

"Please," Chris snorted. The nerve of Shelton, to think he had some sort of attachment to Stephanie! Preposterous. "I wouldn't let that spoiled milk anywhere near my cookies."

"So why do you care if someone else dunks his cookies into her milk?" Shelton mentally patted himself on the back after this statement; especially proud that he was able to keep pace with the master of verbal sparring.

Chris slammed the book shut, unable to concentrate on his current task at hand. "That milk will crumble any ordinary man's cookies, and my cookies are too fine a specimen to subject to that particular fate."

"So you're afraid of the cow?"

"More like, I don't want anything to do with the cow."

Shelton saw his chance. "If that were true, then why do you always stare at her udders?"

"I do NOT stare at her udders!" Chris sputtered out, arms flailing about. At the young man's pointed look, he reconsidered his position on the issue. "Well, can you blame me?"

Shelton shook his head. "They are nice udders."

Deciding that commenting further would only deepen the hole beneath him, Chris remained silent. With nothing better to do, he reopened the book; as luck would have it, the page he opened to was the page he had searched out earlier. Comparing the flowers in the bouquet to the picture, he found them to be an exact match. Holding up the book, he showed the picture to the man leaning against the wall. "You were right."

Shelton smirked. "It's about time you admitted it."

END CHAPTER EIGHT

* * *

Author's notes: Hey all. Sorry about the shortness (and suckyness) of this chapter – it was rather hard for me to write this week, after Nina's story was unnecessarily (and rather viciously) deleted. I have been reading 'Hugs and Kisses' for over a year now; it was my inspiration to even start writing wrestling fanfics. It was, in short, an amazing piece of work that any author would have been proud of; and it is a shame that it was deleted not because of content, but because of a personal grudge. Anyway, deleting it was like stomping on my muses; but since Nina is able to move on, I squeezed out what I could for this installment. I can only hope this wasn't too much of a bear to read.

It is sad to say, but this story will be ending soon. I always said I wouldn't stop until I got a hundred reviews, but on retrospect that was a selfish and silly thing to want. The reviews I have received have been so encouraging and helpful, and I appreciate every single person that has taken the time to leave one. So thank you – quality is always better than quantity :)

Anyway, enough ranting. Thanks for reading, and I hope you'll review and let me know what you think. Take care, and see you next week!


	9. Chapter Nine: Pink Roses

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Stacy Keibler, or other wrestlers that appear in the following story. They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.

SPOILERS: Mention of events from 7-5-04 Raw.

* * *

Flowers for Jericho

CHAPTER NINE

He was the first ever undisputed champion. The headliner of the greatest metal band today (discounting Velvet Revolver, those has-beens). The ayatollah of rock-n-rolla. The King of the World. The Highlight of the Night. And now, he was forced to play musical chairs?

_Dear God, who have I pissed off now to deserve this?_ Jericho wondered to himself idly as 'Pop Goes the Weasel' starting playing in the arena. Eugene did say that there would be a title shot for the winner, but Jericho seriously doubted that this included the Heavyweight prize. With no real motivation, he decided to stand still and not embarrass himself. He watched as Stacy Keibler eagerly began to round the chairs, pouting at the other participants and encouraging them to join in. Lawler was the only one to take pity on her.

When the music stopped, Jericho realized that losing this game would be a bigger embarrassment than refusing to play. He dashed to a chair, much to the excitement of his hometown crowd.

As the number of participants dwindled, he couldn't believe that Stacy was still in the game. Every time he glanced in her direction, she was attempting to flirt with Tomko. Her coy smile led him to believe that she was scheming to screw him over with the help of Trish's problem-solver. With that thought, he leaned back in his chair towards Ric Flair, once Lawler was eliminated. "Flair, are you really going to let a woman beat you in this game? Don't you call yourself the dirtiest player in the game?" he taunted, raising an eyebrow.

Flair looked back at him in surprise. "I'm the dirtiest there is, kid. Woo!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet as the music began once again. Seconds later, Jericho joyfully watched the old man push Keibler out of the way, effectively eliminating her. As the crowd booed, Jericho tsked at the old man (to save face with his fans) before winking and turning away. _If only it was always that easy to get rid of her_.

Two rounds later, Jericho emerged victorious, earning an Intercontinental title shot against Randy Orton that evening. He smirked to himself, realizing that if he stole the title away from the cocky kid tonight, Edge wouldn't have a chance of being the champ on Sunday at Vengeance. That was enough motivation for him to win; he was tired of hearing Edge gloat about all his title reigns.

As he returned backstage, he found Eugene pulling at his hair and frowning a bit at a furious Edge. "Eugene, I just want to know why I couldn't play!" the tall blond yelled.

Holding his hands to his ears briefly, Eugene shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Edge fights Randy Orton on Sunday for Intercontinental title," he stated slowly. "Edge won first Intercontinental title from Jeff Jarrett and lost it the next day."

Edge growled while Chris laughed, catching Eugene's attention. "Chris Jericho! You won my favorite game!" the GM stated excitedly, clapping his hands together.

Chris reached forward to ruffle Eugene's hair, causing the young man to giggle and swat the hand away. "I did. Thanks for the title shot, boss."

"Yeah… I'm the boss," Eugene repeated, straightening out his suit coat. "And bosses get to have special offices! Bye Chris Jericho, bye Edge," he called out as he tore down the hallway, most likely towards his office set-up.

Watching the general manager leave, Chris turned towards the other man. "Maybe if you're nice you can play with us next time," he teased.

Edge crossed his arms with a glare. "Laugh it up, Jerky. I may not be able to prove that you put Eugene up to all this, but I do know that there's no way you'll beat Orton tonight. Not without your little lackey to hold back Batista."

Chris, a bit taken aback by Edge's accusation, immediately didn't like the way the tall man referred to Shelton. _Didn't we just tag together a few weeks ago? _Chris thought to himself bemusedly. And yet, at the first sign of a personal threat, Edge started hating on his fellow Canadian. "It's amazing; I've never met a family that has a genetic predisposition to bitch and moan," Jericho commented, knowing that the comparison between Christian and himself would drive Edge up the wall. "There's no need for this, really. We're fighting for the same cause here: getting rid of Evolution."

Eyes narrowed to slits, Edge stepped into Jericho's space, causing the shorter man to tense instinctively. "There is no 'we', Jerky. When I was out with a broken neck," here Edge paused, clenching his fists as Chris rolled his eyes and yawned, "I watched them run all over you and the rest of the wrestlers on Raw. Since you guys couldn't take care of the problem, it's up to me to fix it."

Jericho began to clap sarcastically. "Oh Edge! You're so noble, doing this for all the little people on Raw! Surely you wouldn't use this great single achievement for personal advancement?" Idly, Chris wondered if Edge gained Benoit's support by using this same veiled premise; for the heavyweight champion to fall for such a sob story would be utterly disgusting.

The tall man snarled, and Chris could see his body shaking with adrenaline. Recognizing this behavior, Jericho tightened his jaw and readied himself for a fist to the face. Surprisingly, though, Edge held himself to words. "This isn't your fight, Jericho. Go back to Trish or whomever the diva is this week, and stay out of my business." Seemingly satisfied by his verbal warning, Edge visibly relaxed and stepped away, down towards the direction of Eugene's office.

But the verbal warning would do nothing to deter Chris Jericho. The blond knew that Edge would never win a solitary war against Evolution, and would most likely end up back on the shelf. And yet, previous tactics used against the foursome had been relatively unsuccessful. Although Benoit took Triple H's precious title, both he and Shawn couldn't destroy the leader. Shelton had knocked Triple H down a few pegs, but hadn't been able to take the wind out of Orton's sails. Ric Flair, the perceived weakest link in the chain, had a variety of cheap moves, not to mention Batista, up his sleeve. No, Edge was completely wrong in thinking he could take down this time unassisted, for taking down a single member had yet to be done. So Chris vowed to keep his nose firmly stuck in Evolution's business, in hopes that a joint effort would prove successful.

After all, Triple H's nose was stuck in three different states at a time.

With Shelton laid up at home for the week, Chris ambled aimlessly towards catering, hoping to run into Stephanie. Last week, while he flipped through the dictionary of flowers, he found a receipt stuck in the back pages belonging to a MasterCard holder S. McMahon. He nearly tore it up on the spot, wanting to deny its existence and keep pretending that Shelton had purchased the book for him, but it could not be forgotten. Stephanie had bought him a thoughtful and useful present, and now the least he could do was thank her. Even if she would give him the Evil Eye and sneer at him like she had been doing for the last two weeks. But, his gesture of good faith proved unsuccessful; she wasn't in catering, by the production truck, or by the gorilla area. Taking it as a sign that thanking her 'just wasn't in the stars', he turned his attention towards his dressing room and his upcoming match.

His attention was diverted from thoughts of destroying Orton by Stephanie leaning against the wall by his dressing room door, talking on her cell phone. Biting back a comment about phone sex operators, Chris waved and quickly retreated into his dressing room. If she had business with him, she'd barge in anyway.

He lost all train of thought when he saw the bouquet of pink roses sitting on a folding chair. They invoked quite a reaction: dry mouth, protruding eyes, an innate fear of romance that all men experienced upon sight.

Jericho didn't have the flower dictionary with him this week, but he didn't need it to realize that this was a serious choice. And since that thought scared him shitless, then he certainly had greater trepidation to read the white index card that sat before it.

Stephanie, with her amazing sense of timing, took that moment to stroll inside, still blabbing on her cell phone. "Yeah, I know, but I doubt this is going to help…" Trailing off, she took in the man before her and realized that perhaps she was a bit out of line with her current conversation. "Um, I gotta go," she quickly stated before closing the flap and placing the phone into her front pocket. Looking around nervously, her eyes landed on the bouquet and she took in a breath. "Oh, the roses…" she breathed, putting two and two together.

Chris glanced at her sideway, suddenly uncomfortable by her presence. His mind was split with excitement and dread at the gift; he didn't have time to hand out a paltry thanks for a stupid book. "Why are you in here?" he asked sullenly. "It's not good technique to follow around the person you've been giving the silent treatment to."

She sighed. "Can't you attempt to be cordial after what I got you last week?"

_I'm not getting out of this thank-you, am I?_ "Thanks for the book. I'll pay you back," he offered automatically, with all intentions of never paying her back. It was only $25; backstage technician or no, she wasn't that hard up for cash.

"It was a peace offering. Shelton mentioned how you had to look up something online, and I thought it would be useful," she explained, hoping that he'd understand that she, too, could never sincerely apologize to him. His comments about her being unworthy of his attentions still stung.

"Oh." He let the conversation die, hoping that she would leave and he could read the card in privacy.

Stephanie, rather missing the conversations she had grown used to, opened her mouth to try and provoke him. However, the headset she wore suddenly buzzed into life, startling both members in the room. "Ms. McMahon, its Dwight. Eugene's moon bounce is starting to deflate and he's going into hysterics.

Taking another long look at Chris (who was ignoring her in favor of the bouquet) Steph grabbed at the box on her side and flipped a switch. "Alright, Dwight, I'm on my way," she stated, swiftly moving towards the door and feeling as if her peace offering was a lost cause. She would later save the moon bounce (and earn Eugene's eternal gratitude) thanks to a tire pump and her iron-fisted control on the backstage crew.

Once he heard the door slam behind her, Chris decided that this situation was best dealt with the Band-Aid technique. He brusquely walked to the bouquet and snatched the white card out of it without a second thought. And while no skin was scratched and cut from the thorns and the card, the words pricked his heart.

_This secret cannot go on for much longer. Be ready._

Chris nearly swallowed his tongue as he read the words over and over again. It was coming to an end, this game of cat-and-mouse, and he already mourned the loss. He wasn't prepared to learn her true identity, to ask why and how long and all the lingering questions in the back of his mind.

Most of all, he was afraid that she'd want him to return her feelings. He had long abandoned his hopes of being able to brush off the woman with a passionate evening, knowing that an act like that would only cause trouble. She wanted his affection, possibly his love, and he felt only graciousness for the mystery person. Perhaps a teenager could fall in love with flowers and thoughtful words, but he could not.

It was quite the turn of events; in the beginning he hated his secret admirer, calling her a coward and with all intentions of ignoring the presence of the bouquets.

In the middle he fought his growing dependence by trying to capture her with elaborate, unsuccessful schemes.

And now, at the end, he already dreaded the confrontation that would end all contact between them.

END CHAPTER NINE

* * *

Author's notes: Two more chapters and the story will be finished. Re-reading earlier chapters, I realized how quickly this story lost its lighthearted touch, and I tried to recapture a bit of it. It's hard though, with all the serious CJ introspects. I also had to suppress the urge to write Dave Batista into this edition; his muse is currently running rampant in my imagination. And here I thought that I appeased him with his cameo in the one-shot I posted earlier this week :)

Well, anyway, I hope you guys liked it (I'm pretty satisfied, for once). Please review and let me know what you think (unless you are upset about the lack of the moon bounce; I tried like hell to write that in as well but I felt that my attempts were all rip-offs of Nina's excellent usage in HaK). Thanks for all of your support as usual, and take care!


	10. Chapter Ten: Coral Roses

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Eugene Dinsmore, or other wrestlers that appear in the following story. They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.

SPOILERS: Mention of events from 7-12-04 Raw.

* * *

Flowers for Jericho

CHAPTER TEN

_Mama always said, 'stupid is as stupid does'._

The choke-slam Kane had just delivered had rattled his brain, randomly sending him back to few months ago to when he filmed his segments for another VH1 decade show. Now, as he lay on his back in the middle of the ring, Chris Jericho could only think of Tom Hanks and grunge music.

Ugh, did he hate grunge, the antithesis of pretty-boy metal (of which he was a card carrying member)! He would rather be choke-slammed a million times than be caught dead in a flannel shirt.

Returning to the 21st century, Chris pulled himself up to a sitting position. Glancing at the referee crumpled up beside him, he decided that perhaps taunting the Big Red Machine after that guttersnipe told him off wasn't the best of ideas. To be frank, he hadn't had ANY good ideas of late (minus crowning himself as the undisputed master of musical chairs).

With a sigh, Chris slowly stood and hobbled backstage, noting a number of sore body parts. He decided against getting some ice, wanting only to retreat to his locker room and take a nice hot shower.

Unfortunately, his attention was diverted by Eugene, who was running up to him, a huge smile on his face. "Chris Jericho! Chris Jericho!" the young man yelled, his arms stretched out like wings.

As much as he liked the kid, Chris was rather embittered that the special lad had a shot at the heavyweight title tonight. First Edge, and now this? Was Bischoff provoking him into looking for a Smackdown trade? "Hey Eugene," Chris groaned, moving to lean against the wall. If anything could come out of this conversation, perhaps he could get a title shot from the kid when hell officially froze over tonight.

Tripping over his feet a bit, Eugene stopped 'flying' and began to dig around in his jacket. "Chris Jericho! Yesterday I went to Chuck E. Cheese's, and today I get to fight Chris Benoit!"

"You're a lucky guy, Eugene," Chris said, with a little envy. It DID sound like an awesome couple of days…

Finally finding the object of his search, Eugene removed his hand from the inside of his coat. "Did you want to see pictures?" he asked, thrusting them under the blond man's nose.

"Not really…" Chris trailed off, catching sight of Dave Batista on the top picture. "You know, I think I will," he said eagerly, snatching the pictures from the smiling Eugene.

As he flipped through the pictures, Jericho could not contain his laughter. These had to be the best set of blackmail pictures he had ever seen! Most of them were taken by Eugene, and were of Dave looking pissed or bored in front of random games. But near the end, Chris struck gold: one picture was of Eugene and Dave in the ball pit, with Eugene smiling and waving while Dave stood with his arms crossed; the other was Dave looking rather disturbed, while Chuck E. Cheese had his arm around the large man's shoulders.

Still staring at the picture of the mouse and the giant man, Chris wiped at his eyes. "Eugene, these are without a doubt the best pictures I have ever seen."

Eugene beamed. "Me an' Dave had fun!" he said, reaching for the pictures.

Jericho avoided his grasp for a second. "Hey, do you think I could have the last two? To put on the Highlight Reel sometime?" God, he couldn't wait for that segment.

The young man's eyes grew as big as saucers. "My pictures on the Highlight Reel? On the Jeritron 5000? WOW!" he exclaimed, nodding his head up and down. "Sure Chris Jericho, you can have them."

"Thanks Eugene. Good luck with your match tonight." Handing back all but the last two pictures, Chris ruffled the young man's hair before pushing himself off the wall and retreating to his locker room. _Now, if only I could get some dirt on Edge…_

Pushing open the door to his room, Jericho was greeted by the sight of a large bouquet of peach-colored roses sitting on a bench. Completely taken aback, Chris felt his good mood start to evaporate; after the card he had received last week, he had fully expected to be confronted by the girl and NOT another bouquet. He knew she was unpredictable, given the tone and type of flowers he had received over the last ten weeks, but this fickle behavior was starting to get on his nerves. Easing himself onto the bench the flowers sat on, he set down the pictures from Eugene and grabbed the card.

_Next week_, it said.

"Figures," he mumbled under his breath, tossing the card aside. The stupid chick was too scared to reveal her identity; in fact, he wouldn't be surprised if she stood him up again next Monday. Perhaps she hadn't realized that over the course of the week, he had grown excited at the prospect of knowing who she was, and that by selfishly postponing their meeting, she would be crushing his hopes of resolving this mystery.

Gazing at the flowers, Chris felt his anger swell a bit. The orange blossoms did not comfort him this week; in fact, their apologetic nature made him want to crush them under his foot. Despite the discovery of Batista blackmail, the last seven days had been nothing but disappointing: losing to Randy Orton (whom Edge beat), losing to Batista (whom Edge also beat, the cheater), and losing faith in his secret admirer.

It was during this brooding that Stephanie McMahon burst into the locker room, without knocking. Taking inventory of the room, a confused look crossed her face. "Where's Shelton?" she asked, fully expecting the young man to have accompanied Chris to Raw.

"Playing hide and seek. Why don't you leave and go find him?" he sneered, resting his head in his hands. Didn't she realize that he was busy feeling _sorry _for himself?

Resting her hands on her hips, Stephanie glared at him. If he wanted to fight, she would be more than happy to oblige. "Well excuse me for asking, Jericho. What jumped up your ass?"

"You're confusing me with yourself, Princess, and I don't want to know what you and Edge do at night. Where is your little boy toy anyways?"

Stephanie blinked; how had this conversation switched to Edge? "How should I know? He's probably shining that bloody belt again."

Jericho snorted; the other Canadian was fast becoming the next Triple H. "Jealous Steph? I'm sure your boyfriend loves you and his title equally."

She groaned, running a hand through her hair. One date with the guy and now she was fucking Mrs. Edge to the entire backstage. "We're not dating," she stated through gritted teeth.

Jericho looked up; her brow was furrowed in annoyance. He couldn't tell if she was upset at his question, or that she wasn't dating the Intercontinental champ; but the last thing he wanted to do was continue to talk about that jackass. "Don't get your panties in a twist, Princess; it was the rumor of the week."

"Well it's not true, dammit." Tired of standing, she strolled over to the bench, sitting on the other side of the bouquet. "Speaking of rumors…"

Chris knew where she was going with this; Shelton must have told her about last week's bouquet. "No, I still don't know who she is. Next week, the card says."

Steph nodded, leaning forward to sniff one of the closer buds. "So what are you going to say to her?" she asked curiously, enjoying the scent of the roses.

He couldn't answer her right away, for he was rather dumbstruck by how lovely she looked at the present moment, with her eyes closed and the hint of a smile playing across her lips. Chris then decided that Kane had caused some permanent brain damage. "Probably tell her I'm not interested, unless she's a hottie."

Her serene expression turned ugly as she leaned back to scowl at him. "And if she's hot, then what? You'll deem her worthy to sleep with? Ugh, and people say I'm heartless!"

"What do you expect me to do, Steph? Whisk her into my arms and tell her that I'm madly in love with her?" He snorted at the thought, crossing his arms and returning her glare. "I'm not a chick. Getting flowers and little poetic cards now and then doesn't make my heart flutter."

"And yet it stroked your ego just the same," Stephanie retorted. "Her attention pulled you out of that stupid depression over Trish and put your head back in the game."

Jericho scoffed at the idea. "Are you serious? Do you _know_ how distracting it's been to have this secret admirer? Half the time in the ring I'm wondering if she's sneaking around in my locker room!" he almost shouted, causing the brunette to wince. Running a hand through his hair, he tried to calm the fire that now burned within him. "It was nice while it lasted, but I'll be glad that it's over."

Stephanie shook her head. "That's bullshit and we both know it. All I am saying is that this girl is obviously crazy about you…"

"Crazy is the key word here," Chris interrupted.

"And you need to keep her feelings in mind, unless you want to deal with a woman hysterically crying." Chris's face filled with terror at the idea, causing Stephanie to chuckle. "Have dinner with her and be your obnoxiously charming self. That'll lessen the blow."

"But what if she's ugly?" he whined. First she invaded his privacy, and now he had to take her out? It was outrageous what chivalry had become these days!

Stephanie rolled her eyes. "Grow up. If I was her, and I got to eat dinner with the 'King of the World' himself," she paused, her mocking face growing serious. "It would be a dream come true."

Her wistful expression startled him; he found himself unwilling to think about why she was acting this way. _I'm probably wrong anyway._ "Better make that a wet dream, Princess, cause it is never going to happen," he said defensively.

Her face looked a bit shocked before she turned away, allowing her hair to mask her expression. "Of course, a slut like me usually doesn't get dinner, right? It's right to the dessert." Standing up, she ran a trembling hand over her jean skirt. "I think I'll go find Edge and congratulate him on his victory tonight over Batista."

"Congratulate him on grabbing the ropes while you're at it; that's champion behavior right there," Chris called after her. She slammed the door in response. Once she was gone, he rubbed at his temples, his thoughts jumbled about. Between speculating at Stephanie's behavior and the prospect of taking his admirer out, he was growing a mother of a headache.

Maybe Stephanie had a point; taking the girl out to dinner would be harmless _and _make him look nice and sensitive, until he told her to get lost. But that wasn't what was really bothering him.

Was it possible… that Stephanie liked him?

* * *

END CHAPTER TEN

Author's Note: Happy Sunday all… (does a double take of calendar)… dear god, I am a day early! Hope you enjoyed the chapter; I added the Eugene/Dave Batista pictures purely for my amusement (after I was denied Dave in the moon bounce last week). This was just a little set-up chappy for the big finale next week, which in all honesty will probably be posted on Sunday. Please review and let me know what you think. Take care!

PS I'd like to take a moment and thank VH1 for having Chris Jericho on 5 times a week. Seeing him sing Ace of Base on the 'I Love the 90's' show truly made my day yesterday.


	11. Chapter Eleven: Red Rose

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Shelton Benjamin, or other wrestlers that appear in the following story. They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.

SPOILERS: Mention of events from 7-19-04 Raw.

JUST A REMINDER: Please read the author's notes at the end – they are IMPORTANT!!!!!

* * *

Flowers for Jericho

CHAPTER ELEVEN

_A bachelorette party with the token male stripper._

_ A sorority sleep-over with a dim-witted pizza delivery guy._

_ A bag of Double-Stuf Oreos at a Weight Watchers' support meeting._

Chris Jericho stood in the ring, living the supposed male fantasy: ten wanton females that looked at him like a piece of meat.

Why was it that he felt utterly and completely violated?

Jericho hadn't expected to be involved with this entire Diva-search fiasco tonight. After his refusal to drool and flirt (a la Hunter, Edge, and Orton) at the elimination round the other night, he had hoped he would be relieved of his duties. God knows there were tons of wrestlers backstage who would eagerly love this attention. And yet here he was, in the ring with the ten finalists, bored out of his mind, for the 2nd time that night.

Yes, he loved boobs, but this was overkill.

Finally, the last girl giggled out her name and hometown, and Chris was struck with an idea. With revenge on the brain, he told the girls of an immunity envelope that was hidden in the general manager's office and sent them a huntin'. They responded with enthusiasm, eagerly following him to Bischoff's office and tearing the place apart. After a few suggestions and muffled chuckles, Chris retreated towards his locker room, allowing the girls to finish their vandalization.

There had been no flowers and no sign of his admirer when he and Shelton arrived earlier that evening. Although he supposed that he should have felt disappointed, relief instead had washed over him. Instead of spending the last week thinking about what to say to the girl, he had mulled over another pressing issue.

How on Earth could Stephanie McMahon like _HIM_???

Despite a brief truce during their partnership, Chris had done nothing but torture her. He made fun of her breasts time and time again. He had strung together as many nasty adjectives possible to describe the Billion-Dollar Princess. There was even that infamous pie-in-the-face incident. That wasn't flirting, by any means.

What troubled him, however, were the kisses.

To this day, Chris Jericho had never thought of his reasoning behind those kisses, beyond their distraction value. She was there, she was in the way, and kissing her seemed like the best course of action. After all, they hated each others' guts.

At least, he had _THOUGHT _the feeling was mutual. He wasn't sure of anything now.

_God, what if she took those kisses the wrong way?_ Chris wondered to himself for the 1,023 time in three days. There was no way she could have seen the first one coming; Chris himself had felt her gasp against his mouth during the act itself. But before he pulled her in for the second one, at Summerslam, he specifically remembered the look in her eyes.

Yes, the surprise was there. But this time, there was no shock; and while she did not kiss him back, she seemed to complacently accept the kiss.

And he _REFUSED _to get into the time he sent her flowers, while she was still married to Hunter. That was merely to psyche her out, nothing more…

….. _God, it could be her._

Chris shook his head of that train of thought. It wasn't her; there was no way she could have lied to his face that many times without him noticing. But, try as he might to quiet his doubts, the small voice in the back of his head was busy listing out Stephanie's guilt in the matter.

A few feet away from his locker room door, Jericho spied Shelton and Stephanie chatting and laughing. He frowned; since when had those two been so buddy-buddy?

His confusion turned into anger when Stephanie's hand rested on Shelton's arm while she laughed at something else the young man said. Chris noticed her curled hair, her short black miniskirt that barely peaked out beneath her Raw t-shirt, and a giant-sized smile that Shelton returned.

Did he just catch them flirting?

Something was up, and Chris wanted to know what before his anger exploded.

Forcing his hands to unclench, Jericho strolled up to the pair, pretending to be indifferent to their conversation. "Benji, have the swallows returned to Capistrano?" he asked casually.

The younger man rolled his eyes at Chris's question, personally feeling that the code talk was ridiculous. "Nope. No sign of her, CJ."

"Awww, look at you give Jericho a nickname," Stephanie cooed, pinching Shelton's cheek. Shelton swatted the hand away with a groan, while Chris glowered at the brunette. "Can I come to your fort, or are no girls allowed?"

"There is no…"

"Girls are allowed, Princess, but no skanks," Jericho interrupted, continuing to glare at her. Her eyes, however, were still focused on Shelton. "We're trying to keep it clean."

Her retort was cut short by her headset buzzing to life. "McMahon! Get your ass down here and help the crew clean my office, dammit!" Bischoff's voice shouted, causing her to wince.

Stephanie sighed, reaching behind her to turn off her headset pack. Being Bischoff's personal slave was starting to grate on her nerves. "See you later, Shelton," she said, brushing past Jericho and wearily walking down the hallway, imagining the prisoners' yells of 'Dead Woman Walking'.

Chris's frown grew deeper as he watched her retreating figure. Not once did she acknowledge his presence, nor did she even look him in the eye.

This did not bode well for his newly constructed world of denial.

Shelton glanced at Chris's profile and could pretty much guess what was running through the blond man's mind. After all, Jericho had spent the entire last week calling him and telling him reason after reason why Stephanie could not like him. "Before you blow a gasket, she wasn't coming on to me, man," he said.

Chris glanced at Shelton, his frown turning into a smirk. "Like I would care," he retorted, crossing his arms defensively. "It would be an insult to you, however, to be her rebound fuck after she was with that idiot Edge."

"You really are oblivious sometimes," was Shelton's response, feeling almost sorry for his friend. His sorrow was cut short when he spied a certain figure approaching.

About to refute Shelton's claim of obliviousness, Chris noticed his friend stiffen and rub at the cast on his hand. Looking up, he caught sight of Batista and Flair walking towards them, and was filled with both curiosity and worry. While Shelton had never detailed the exact reason behind his freak-out involving his broken hand, Jericho had been led to believe that Evolution was behind it; the smirk Batista was currently giving the young man was adding to the surmounting evidence. Straightening up, Chris stepped a bit closer to the Evolution members, ready for their attack.

Surprisingly, it was Batista who made the first verbal assault. "Look Ric, it's the World's Most Pathetic Tag Team."

Flair snickered. "Back in my day, we used to call them the Rockers," he reminisced, making sure to stay somewhat behind his personal ogre.

Chris looked at Shelton, waiting for the young man to say something. When he made no move to speak, Jericho allowed himself the pleasure to retort. "Oh boy! I didn't know that the traveling circus was in DC this week!" Placing a hand on Shelton's shoulder, he pointed first at Batista, and then at Flair. "Look Benji, there's the 'World's Strongest Douchebag'… oh, and there's 'The World's Flabbiest Sodomizer.'" Chris grinned at their pissed off faces, dropping his voice to a near-whisper. "Be careful, though; I hear the old one has a thing for big noses."

Ready to defend his mentor, Batista charged at Jericho, only to be held back by the World's Flabbiest… errr … Ric Flair. "C'mon big guy, let's go take out Benoit. We'll deal with that idiot later," he consoled, leading the much larger man away.

"Big noses and protruding veins," Jericho amended, once they were out of earshot.

Finally looking up, Shelton gave him a forced amused look. "World's Flabbiest Sodomizer?" he repeated.

Jericho shrugged. "It's not like you were any help," he explained.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Chris Jericho (or Chris Benoit, for that matter) it was a bad night to have the name of 'Chris', for Batista took them both out within the span of an hour. Jericho turned out to be the luckier of the two, suffering only a mild concussion (from his head bouncing off the concrete floor) and a severely wounded ego (from blacking out after a clothesline).

After a brief stint in the trainer's room, Chris was released into Shelton's care. Pressing an ice pack to the back of his head, the worn-out Canadian allowed the other man to lead him to his dressing room.

"Now I see why you hate Batista so much," Chris commented wryly, trailing a hand on the wall in a feeble attempt to walk steadily.

Not in the particular mood to talk about his personal angst with the Evolution strongman (or douchebag, depending on who is asked), Shelton let that comment slide. "I still think you should have gone to the hospital with Benoit."

Jericho swung his free arm in exasperation, nearly topping over before Shelton grabbed him by the back of his tights. "Wha for? It's just a concussion."

"A CAT scan may do you good. You've been acting crazy all week." With less than an entire hallway to traverse, Shelton decided to bring up the obvious. "It's Steph, isn't it?"

Jericho's head flew up, causing him to moan in pain at the sudden movement. "It's Steph? What's Steph?" _Jesus, did __Shelton__ KNOW it was her?_

The younger man couldn't suppress a chuckle. "The one driving you crazy."

Chris let out an exasperated sigh, clutching the ice-pack more firmly to his neck. "She's always driving me crazy, Benj, lest you forget our torrid and extended history."

Truer words had never been spoken. But Shelton was looking for something a bit more explicit, unfortunately. "Speaking of forgetting, we're here," he announced, stopping in front of the locker room door. At Jericho's confused silence, he gestured towards said door. "You do know that she's probably in there, right?"

The blond man groaned, unwilling to deal with this pest of an admirer while suffering a mild concussion. "Twenty bucks she copped out with another bouquet."

Seeing the opportunity for easy money, Shelton seized the other man's hand, shaking it vigorously. "Deal. I'll be in catering." With a final supportive squeeze of the hand, the young man wisely high-tailed out of the area. He wasn't quite sure what to expect; an injured, cranky Chris Jericho did not bode well for the poor girl, though.

Chris watched Shelton walk away, then returned his attention to the door. _So this is it, _he thought ominously, flinging open the door and sweeping the room with his eyes.

His eyes locked on brown curly hair, causing his heart to race. _Stephanie!_ He couldn't speak, his tongue going dry a mere second earlier.

Hearing the door open, the woman slowly turned towards him.

Suddenly, his heart plummeted to his feet, as Nidia, not Stephanie, met his shocked gaze.

Seeing that it was Chris Jericho in the doorway, the young woman stumbled to her feet. "Chris, hi," she greeted awkwardly, clutching a single red rose in her right hand.

"It's you?!" he sputtered out, not caring if he sounded like a cad. For Christ's sake, it was Nidia!

Her deep brown eyes flitted downwards. "Yeah, it was me," she said after a moment.

Chris nodded once, unable to think of what to say. Of all the people he had expected to find in his locker room, she was never considered. Hell, he didn't expect anyone but Stephanie… and now that he thought about it, he had wanted his admirer to be Steph. She had the most right to be here, given the kisses they had shared in the past. But this girl… he didn't even know her last name! Had they ever even spoken?

Nidia chose that moment to snap her gum in the silent room, causing Chris to jump a bit. "Sorry," she said, her cheeks flushing a bit. "So, um… yeah. Now what?"

It was obvious to Chris that she, like him, was at a loss for what to do or say. However, he couldn't stop obsessing over the fact that he had truly wanted Stephanie to be his admirer. Realizing that Shelton had tried to point that out to him just minutes earlier, Jericho wanted nothing more than to hunt down his best friend and demand to know how. But first… he had to say SOMETHING to her… "Well, uh… maybe you'd like to get dinner sometime?" he stuttered, borrowing Stephanie's proposed idea.

The girl froze, her gum falling out of her open mouth and hitting the floor. Immediately Chris wished to take back his dinner proposal. "Really? Wow! I never thought… I'd really like that." Reaching into her front pocket, she extracted a piece of paper as she approached him shyly. "My number is on there… oh, and this is for you, I guess…"

Chris absently took the rose and the paper, still eyeing the door. "Well, thanks… for everything," he amended. He knew he should be acting more grateful; her bouquets and notes had cheered him up, at the very least. But his disappointment over the situation still pervaded. Without waiting for her to respond, he turned and left his locker room, eager to run into Shelton, or better yet, Stephanie.

The sounds of the crowd booing echoed in the hallway, cueing him in to the fact that the Divas-in-training were still on. Rushing towards catering, Chris clutched at the rose in his hand. Maybe he could give this to Stephanie, but what would he say? What would she say? What…

He stopped short, catching sight of the youngest McMahon standing by the gorilla. Taking a deep breath, he stepped closer, ready to make a fool of himself. After all, he did have a concussion to blame, if worse came to worse.

Chris didn't have to say a word to feel like a fool. Not when he saw Edge's hand resting on her lower back. Or the way she tilted up her chin to offer him a small smile.

_Too little, too fucking late_.

Trying his best to ignore the pair, he dejectedly continued his walk towards catering, wanting nothing more to find Shelton and leave the bloody arena. He didn't know that she and Edge were serious; didn't she tell him it was all rumors not a week ago?

Things just weren't making sense, he could feel it. Shelton was so sure that the girl had been in his locker room just now. Stephanie had been unwilling to participate in his schemes, and yet she had given him a book on flowers and suggestions on what to say. Come to think of it, Stephanie was rather willing to help as long as she didn't have to hunt the girl down…

Something was up. Chris Jericho may have learned who had sent him the flowers, but the mystery was far from over.

THE END

* * *

Author's notes: OK, OK, I am going to take a moment and sincerely apologize to y'all. This isn't the end of the story; rather the end of the flowers. I honestly never planned on writing a sequel, but as I was typing this last chapter I couldn't bear to end it all. Plus, there were so many loose ends, involving the flower meanings and such; it would have been a bloody mess. So there will be a sequel, titled "Flowers Can't Keep Secrets." The first chapter of that should be posted soon… unless enough of y'all tell me to bugger off for teasing you like this :)

Please review and let me know what you think; did you expect it to be Nidia? Do you care to read a sequel where Chris chases Steph, or should I just add an epilogue to this fic?

And, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for sticking with me until the very end. Each review was appreciated; most were so kind that they truly made my day. It was my honor to write for you all. Please take care, and I hope to see you back for the sequel.

Liz


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